


Launch

by Instigator



Series: Family Dynamics [3]
Category: Avengers, Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Abuse, Adoption, Alcohol, Avengers Family, Avengers Tower, Avengers behaving badly, Disability, Domestic, Domestic Avengers, Everybody is just doing the best they can ok?, Family Secrets, Feels, I really hate Justin Hammer, Kidfic, M/M, Phase 1, Slash, Slow Build, Superhusbands, Thor where did you even get that kid, Very domestic, chosen family, gender nonconformity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-05
Updated: 2014-06-30
Packaged: 2018-01-07 12:59:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 209,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1120100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Instigator/pseuds/Instigator
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You don’t get to be a superhero without knowing something of loss. You don’t survive as a superhero without knowing a lot about perseverance. Twenty years after the Avengers first assembled they’ve all gotten used to having and being a family, even going so far as raising 4 kids within Avengers tower. But none of them made it this far without knowing that all good things come to an end, eventually. That doesn’t mean they won’t fight to keep what they’ve built, what they need. And it’s a tossup where the bigger danger is coming from- outside their family, or from within. </p><p>* You do not need to have read anything else in the Family Dynamics 'verse to read this. Pretty much everything else was written while I worked things out for this fic.</p><p>*This story is COMPLETE.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> *The warnings above may not be complete! I have tried but it's a very long fic with a lot of heavy issues. If there's something you're specifically worried about drop me a line and I'll let you know. If you see a warning you think should be there but isn't, let me know. There is no sexual or sexualized violence of any kind.
> 
> *This fic, and everything in it's verse is Phase1 compliant only. IM3 jossed this fic hard. I've tried hard to stay true to cannon as represented in Phase 1. Anything not covered by Phase 1 I cobbled together from comics, cartoons, or now and then, fannon. Or I just made it up. So while there are glimmers of comics continuity things, don't expect this fic to really follow any comics cannon.
> 
> *Comments are my bread and butter. :) I'm also on Tumblr as constant-instigator. :)

    Tony tossed the wrench down on the table as he collapsed backwards onto the couch in the workshop. He was bordering on the level of exhaustion that could prevent him from even feeling smug about the improvements he'd made to the Quinjet's new engine. Which was to say, still not too exhausted to be annoyed that a single, solitary all-nighter (plus previous morning, afternoon and evening) was enough to make him bleary from sleep deprivation.

    He didn't mind the now mostly grey hair, he could rock that, and he mostly didn't mind the wrinkles, science could fix that, but he did mind that, at a mere 63 years old, his stamina was starting to sack out in a major way. And he also minded that, more and more, he was the supply guy for the Avengers, rather than part of the front line. He enjoyed focusing on the tech. Superscience for purposes of saving the Earth and general badassery was always welcome in his tower, but he had to admit that some of the shine was starting to wear off. His new unofficial position on the team was shuffling him to the sidelines.

    Especially annoying since Steve “Vaudeville” Rogers looked about 35. So did Natasha. Thor still looked about 25. Clint at least had the good graces to age like a normal human being, but he was still younger than Tony, and seemed to be barely slowing down. Oh, he'd complain about a knee now and then, but mostly he was still able to keep up. Bruce, out there in the wilds of the 3rd world, seemed to be aging, but the Hulk didn’t seem to be, so it was anyone’s guess how that would play out.

    And that just left Tony, creaking his way into obscurity all by himself. Sure, Pepper wasn’t far off from him in age, but she had fallen off a lot fewer skyscrapers, which, it turned out, was not good for keeping one’s youthful flexibility. Pretty soon Tony wouldn’t be able to go out with the team at all. And between his needing to retire out of the Avengers and his son moving out, there wouldn’t be a lot connecting him to the tower and the other residents anymore. Or connecting them to him. Not the way they had been, anyways.

    Enough of that. Time to focus on the new generation.

    "Jarvis, where are we on the breakfast countdown?

    "Ms. Potts is already in her kitchen, sir, as is young Mister Rogers. Your son is still in the shower. I expect he will be somewhat late to breakfast. You told Ms. Potts you would be arriving at 8am. it is currently 7:57am."

    Tony leaned his head back against the couch with a stifled groan. "Jarvis. Reminders, please? There are no other clocks in here. You are the clock."

    "You disabled unsolicited reminders until further notice at 4am this morning, sir. Shall I inform Ms. Potts that you will be late?"

    Jarvis was a poor substitute for Pepper. He never knew when to ignore Tony’s instructions. Even after all these years and all those AI upgrades, Jarvis still insisted on listening to Tony the vast majority of the time.

    "No, no" Tony rubbed his face "They've all seen me worse than this. I'm hardly even greasy. I'll just wash my hands and head down. If Pepper doesn’t like the grease, she should let me upgrade her automated cleaning service like I keep offering."

    Tony headed over to the sink. He'd ignored worse fatigue than this for less worthy purposes, and he was sober, and barely hung over, so that helped. "I mean, what is she doing right now? She's probably hand making breakfast for Phil and Jamie, right? a CEO of one of the worlds biggest and best companies, mother of two, practically the mother of two more, and she's down there slicing grapefruit. That is not what I call a sensible division of labor." She didn't allow much in the way of house staff. One tower infiltration had been enough for her. Well, for all of them. He wiped his hands on the almost-clean towel. "Tell her I'll be down, Jarvis. Time to get my boy into college." One short elevator ride down a couple stories had him exiting the tower floor housing Pepper and the boys.

    Pepper, fully primped for the day, looked up from the kitchen countertop where she was, sure enough, putting sugar on a grapefruit and sliding it in front of one of the empty stools. Jamie was already at the counter, tapping his spoon on it's surface with his head propped up on one hand, the very image of fifteen year old sulk in baggy clothes. Tony had to feel for the kid. There was no way he'd hit anything like 45 kgs. yet, despite Pepper’s top shelf genes helping him out. Her visible genetic contribution seemed to have mostly gone to coloration, rather than height. Just her and Jamie so far, even though mooching breakfast at the Potts apartment was a favorite pastime for at least half of the tower’s full-time residents.

    "Morning all" Tony did his best to saunter, despite fatigue. Sauntering was a specialty. He could saunter while tired.

    Pepper spared him a long-suffering look of irritation at his various grimes, and gave him a quick once-over with her eyes, an unwarranted sobriety check. Her voice was pleasant enough "Morning, Tony". Tony just raised his eyebrows to indicate his innocence of any knowing violation of health codes, and sat on one of the stools, leaving one seat empty for Phil.

Tony glanced at the still-sulking Jamie "Hey, kiddo, what's your problem? I would think this would be a big day for you."

    At that, Jamie did look up "Me? Why? Phil is the one applying for college. Not me".

"Well, because,” Tony grabbed some toast onto his plate, "in not that many months, Phil will be leaving. Flying the coup. And that will leave you," he gestured with his toast, "an only child for the first time in your life. I've been an only child. Trust me, you'll love it."

    Pepper sighed. "Tony, please stop talking like that. Phil is going to college. Not to Mars. He's not dying. And Jamie is not going to be an only child."

    Pepper was clearly having a little  trouble cutting the apron strings. Tony remembered college, parts of it. He was sure that, even if he'd had someplace to go back to, he never would have gone home once he was out. Phil’d made his desire for independence loudly and forcefully heard ever since he was fifteen. He’d had had nearly three years to get his point across. Jamie might not be an only child, but once Phil was gone and putting as much distance from himself and everyone in the tower as possible, he’d probably end up feeling like one.

    Tony put down the toast, ignoring the small but sudden tightness in his chest. "Speaking of, where _is_ Phil? Jarvis? I don't hear the shower."

    "I'm here, I'm here." Phil stomped wearily into view. Despite being fully dressed, other than one missing shoe, and having clearly showered, he looked about as tired as Tony felt. One headphone hung off of his head blaring jazz, the other bud jammed in his ear. He nearly collapsed onto the stool between Jamie and Tony with a small “oof,” then a more controlled, "Where is everybody?"

    Jamie poked his cereal "They all left because of your smelly shoe under the couch" Pepper looked pinched. The boys were allowed a certain amount of mess in their own rooms, but everything was supposed to be collected out of shared spaces before bed each night. She must not have noticed the shoe.

    "Is that where it is?" Phil craned around, half upside down on his swivel stool, dark wet hair dripping on the floor, trying to see under the couch. "Oh" he yawned again and straightened up.

    Pepper answered while pouring him some juice "Steve isn't coming by until after breakfast. I haven't seen Signe. Or Alma, actually, which I'm not thrilled about. Maybe you could go check on her when you and Tony are finished with your essay? And music off at the table, please." Pepper finally sat down to her own meal, sitting on the opposite side of the counter, facing them.

    "Essay?" Phil sleepily managed to get out around a mouthful of cereal.

    Tony patted Phil on the back "We're gonna finish up your college application essay today. I stayed up special. Get you your pick of colleges."

    Phil swallowed his bite, watching Tony, fairly nonplussed "Oh. I finished it."

    "What?" Pepper looked up at him "When did you do that? You told me last night you hadn't started it.”

    Phil appeared mildly offended “Yeah, and you said I needed to get it done. So I did. I already sent off all the applications this morning. Sixteen of them."

    Pepper wasn’t happy. "You sent them off? Without letting your dad or I look them over?"

    "Jarvis looked them over." Phil answered irritably. Tony recognized that old "adults are so overbearing" face vividly from his own teen years. Which was odd because from his current vantage point he couldn’t actually remember a single instance of any actual overbearing adults having been around him in his teens. The closest he'd got had been Rhodey.

    Tony cocked an eyebrow. "Jarvis looked them over? I don't remember Jarvis going to college. Jarvis, did you go to college when I wasn't looking? I'm not reimbursing your tuition."

    Jarvis's voice had just the faintest edge of disapproval. "I reviewed Phillips essay, sir. I advised that the theories presented seemed sound, and assisted with the grammar, but I did mention that essay writing is not one of my more common functions." Phil gave the ceiling a mild glare, as if Jarvis had ratted him out.

    "Well, Phil, good for you." Pepper said, trying to lighten the sarcastic mood. With both of them sleep deprived and snarking, things could get unpleasant quickly. She glanced at Tony with a look between a plea and a warning, ostensibly addressing Phil. "I'm glad you got it done."

    Tony's brain took a second to catch up, proccesing yet another instance of Phil not needing him. He hated how those little things were so hard to wrap his head around, especially since there was nothing surprising about them. "Yeah. Good for you." He agreed vaguely.

    On the other hand, if Phil screwed up the essay, he could end up at a second-rate college... "I don't know why you couldn't wait for oh, two hours, and get the opinions of people who actually got _in_ to college, but-"

    Phil glared fiercely. Tony usually liked that glare. It reminded him of Pepper’s glare, which was an object of rare sentimentality for him, but now he was getting it both from Phil and from Pepper, who presumably blamed him for ruining her tranquil breakfast before work. Unexpectedly, it was Jamie who piped up first.

    "Why would it even matter? He's a super-genius. And part of the 'Stark Legacy'. It's not like he _won’t_ get in. He'll get in wherever he wants."

    Phil threw his hands up "THANK you, at least _somebody_ has faith in my ability to organize words in my native language. I mean, I speak more languages than anyone in this tower. Except Thor but that doesn’t count. I think I can write one stupid little five page essay in _English_ and attach a writing sample.”

    Jamie rolled his eyes, apparently feeling less supportive than previously implied and not looking at any of them. "Right, and if he doesn't get in, you can always just build them a new dorm building so that they will."

    Phil reached out one arm without any particular effort or speed and shoved Jamie most of the way off his stool. Jamie stubbornly wrapped his legs around the stools leg in response, keeping himself from toppling off completely, and grabbed at Phil’s arm, trying to push it off.

    “ _Boys._ ” Pepper scolded. Phil let go of Jamie and went back to eating his cereal. Jamie straightened himself on the stool with a surreptitious glare at his half brother. Of all the things to tease Phil about, Tony had no idea why Jamie consistently chose money, other than the fact it seemed to get under Phil’s skin to an admittedly entertaining amount. They were fighting a lot lately, though, so maybe it was just as well that Phil would be leaving soon, and giving the little runt some room to grow. Tony tried again to convince himself that this would be for the best.

    " _Anyways."_ Phil continued "It's done. It's in. They're in. It's fine."

    Tony finished off a piece of toast. "Ok. It's done. We'll see what happens." He tried to keep doubt and sarcasm out of his voice. Phil _was_ a 'super genius', after all, just like Tony. And Tony was fairly sure he'd completed his own MIT application while sleep deprived and drunk. So it should be fine. He gave his best encouraging smile. Phil just poured another bowl of cereal indifferently.

    Jamie interrupted the uncomfortable silence, “mom? When did you tell pop 'after breakfast' would be? I want to go check on Alma too.” There was a knock on the door, and Jamie wilted with an anticipatory grimace.

    "Come in!" Pepper called

Signe ducked "her" head into the room, surveyed those seated at the table, and grinned. "Good morning!" He crossed the space from the door to the counter with a few long strides, changing from “her” default female shape to the male body Tony thought of as a better match. Her longer hair drifted off into little ripples of light, while her hips slimmed down and her shoulders broadened. Tony was still at odds with himself over who the strangest resident of the tower was- Thor, with his cape and hammer and cheesy Elizabethan speech even after 18 years continuously spent on Earth, or his recently gender-swapping, shape-shifting, occassionly blue, 194cm tall daughter/son.

    Jamie perked up at Signe’s entrance, transparently relived that it wasn’t the other Rogers. Phil yawned again. Signe immediately began riffling through a cabinet. "Father always forgets to tell Jarvis when we run out of things. And we are completely out of Pop Tarts." He said, most of his arm disappearing into the cabinetry "I've told him he should go buy some more, if he wants any breakfast. And to pay you back for these. Oh! you have strawberry!" Signe pulled out a box and made himself comfortable on the counter next to the toaster with a plate and a settled sort of look. There was a perfectly good dining table with room for 12 not 3 meters away, but it pretty much never got used anymore.

Then his brow furrowed and he paused. "Wait, Strawberry?" He peered into the toaster suspiciously. "Ms. Potts, aren't you deathly allergic to these? Am I going to hurt you with the strawberry fumes?".

    Pepper smiled "Good morning, Signe. And no, as it turns out, there are no actual strawberries in strawberry Pop Tarts, but thank you for asking. And please tell Thor he does not have to replace our Pop Tarts. I stock them for you, anyways.  But are you sure that's all you want? I'm not sure Pop Tarts…even a box full...are the best breakfast for a growing...boy." She finished with only a slight wobble of uncertainty in her voice.

    Signe grinned as four freshly toasted Pop Tarts made themselves available with a ping. " 'Boy' is fine, Ms. Potts. So is 'girl'. I only make those two" he pointed at Jamie and Phil with a pastry "call me a guy all of the time as vengeance. From anyone else, I don't care. I would especially never correct you. Oh, or you Mr. Stark."

    Tony acknowledged the tacked on respect with a tip of his fork, then inquired "Sorry, vengeance?" He was pretty sure if Signe was actually out for vengeance there would be much worse things at play than some pronoun rules. Still. Didn't hurt to stay informed. And Signe was generally perfectly happy to provide any requested information, unlike some adolescents in this tower.

    Signe sat up with defiant shoulders and a snarky grin "For pretending I was a weak helpless girl when we were small...before I learned to shift so well." Tony raised an eyebrow at that. Signe had only been able to sustain this kind of shift for about 6 months, but there had never been a time when Signe wasn’t easily the tallest and strongest of the tower’s four kids. He’d been the tallest person in the tower period for about the last 9 months.

    “What she means", Phil clarified, "is that she's a bully who thinks it's funny to make us call 'him' a 'he' in front of other people when she's looking like a girl, because it makes us look crazy."

    "He can be called whatever he wants to, Phil." Jamie stated disapprovingly, sitting up straight for the first time that morning to look his half brother in the eye with more reproach. "And she's not a bully. I mean he! _He's_ not a bully. Damn." He slumped back again, aggravated with himself. Tony surpressed a smirk at Jamie’s good intentions and high personal standards. Adorable.

    Signe just laughed and crammed down more Pop Tart. "Is Alma coming?"

    "Nobody’s seen her" Phil answered, "Mom wants you and me to go check on her after breakfast."

    "And me!" Jamie reminded hastily.

    Pepper frowned, slightly "Jamie, your dad will be down here right after breakfast. I think you should stay and see him. You've hardly seen him since he got back into town four days ago."

    Jamie immediately averted his eyes, glaring down at his grapefruit "He didn't ask _me_ if after breakfast was a good time. Nobody asked me when I want to see him. He's here almost all day. Why do I have to see him right when I want to go check on Alma?"

    Phil gnawed some fruit off his grapefruit rind, watching his brother. "He's got a point, mom. He's a little old for you to be making play dates for him." Ever the proponent of increased independence for teenagers. Jamie continued to glare at the fruit.

    Pepper was trying not to be annoyed or worried. "I did not 'make a play date for him'. Steve just asked when would be a good time to stop by."

    "Well, I can talk to him myself, later. Or he can talk to me directly, if he wants to make plans." Jamie said with iron-clad calm and no eye contact with anyone. He stood up, and brought his dishes to the kitchen sink. He'd hardly eaten anything. Pepper always gave him more than he’d eat. Signe slid off the counter while cramming an impressive amount of yet another Pop Tart in his mouth, and gathering up the rest of the box.

    Phil took this as a cue and hastily drank the rest of milk in his cereal bowl, and stood up. "I'm done. I'll go check on Alma now." He headed towards the door, Signe and Jamie joining him.

    Pepper sat up straighter, not pleased at the sudden end to her breakfast, trying not to look overwhelmed. “O-ok…I’ll see you boys after work. I'll be home for dinner. Have a good day." Jamie and Phil both managed some variant of "you too” before the door closed, and Signe managed a some what more enthusiastic "And you!"

    Pepper gave a frustrated sigh and leaned back in her chair, putting her napkin on the counter. "And there they go."

    "Yep." Tony polished off the rest of his toast. There was a long moment of silence as they both sat, lost in thought.

    Tony frequently got the urge to talk to Pepper about their son moving out. He occassionly had at least managed brief conversations about the logistical side of it. And she had tried to bring up more of it with him a few times. The problem was that she seemed to believe Phil would still be theirs when he left, and Tony knew better.

    In fairness to Pepper, she had better chances with Phil than Tony did. She was both the boys' unabashed favorite. She was just fond enough of Tony to think he stood a chance at the same treatment from their son. So maybe this didn't freak her out the same way it freaked him out. Maybe she wasn't losing Phil.

    But she at least understood his position better than anyone else. Signe showed no signs of ever leaving. Alma was just a young kid. Steve wouldn't know what this was like for a few years yet. Tony was the only one loosing their child.This was probably why other people had friends. Friends who weren't damn near immortal superheroes who couldn't understand the plight of mere mortals like Tony. There was Rhodey, but the twins were barely older than Alma,

    "Well." Tony prepared to get up to go, and the door knocked.

    "Come on in, Steve" Pepper called back.

    Steve came in, but stopped in the doorway at the sight of Pepper and Tony eating breakfast alone. His shoulders dropped, radiating disappointment. _Well, good morning to you to, Rogers_. Steve didn't sound surprised. "He's gone already."

    "Flown the coop." Tony agreed, stretching.

    Pepper looked guilty and tired. "He went with the others to check on Alma, Steve. I'm sorry,”

    "You've been stood up. Sorry, man.” Tony added. Steve might not yet know what losing your kid meant, but at least he shared the experience with Tony of having your kid turn on you. Going from childish adoration to teenage disdain.

    "He just left?" Steve now looked just about as lost and annoyed as Tony felt, which was a guilty sort of comfort. Steve finished entering the room, and shut the door behind him. Which meant it looked like he planned to stay for a while. Just fantastic. Because if there was anything Tony wanted to deal with today it was Steve’s practically ageless face and perfectly toned body as he fretted about the kid he wasn’t actually losing any time soon. On top of that, Steve was probably only two hours into his day and fresh as a damn daisy.

    Pepper folded her napkin unnecessarily on her empty plate. "He wants you to talk to him from now on, instead of arranging things with me. I'm sorry. I should have kept him here but...it's been...just...that sort of a morning. I guess he sort of has a point. There's really no reason you shouldn't talk to him directly, as long as I know what’s going on."

    Steve gave an open palm shrug "I would if I could ever reach him. He doesn't answer my calls. Or texts. Or emails. He's avoiding me for some reason." Which was no news to anyone. Jamie wasn’t even particularly subtle about dodging Steve anymore, grimacing openly whenever any father-son time came up. Jamie and Tony had Steve dodging as a common pastime, albeit for slightly different reasons.

    “Ah, He’s 15?" Tony suggested helpfully, as Pepper roller her eyes at what she presumably considered tactlessness "What? Since when is that not a good enough reason to avoid your parents? It was always good enough for me." Tony pushed back from the table. Pepper was still looking disapproving. That’s what Tony got for trying to give a non-Steve-blaming reason. “Well, it’s the nicest reason I can come up with. Trying to be polite here." Steve looked at him more sharply. A look with both a warning and a question in it. And Rogers should have known better, he really should. Tony was far too tired and far too irritated to tactfully back down from a challenge like that. He could stand to blow off a little steam.

    He spread his hands. "Well, you have to admit, he’s got a couple reasons to be bitter about you." Steve’s eyes narrowed, considering, maybe a little anxious, but not hurt enough to be a deterrent to Tony. "I mean, it has to suck for him, being Captain America’s runt." And now both Pepper and Steve stiffened. "Don’t give me that look. I’m just saying. He’s short. That’s not a secret. There are lots of secrets around here and that isn’t one of them." And Tony knew a thing or two about having a family legacy to live up to. Any idiot could tell that Jamie wasn’t going to be living up to the Captain America legacy. "Not like he hasn’t got many fine qualities" Tony amended graciously. Because he did. Jamie was a great kid. Anyone would be lucky to call him theirs. Tony would have given even 1/4th a chance. “I’m just saying, how many of those qualities do you think he attributes to you? But he knows where the asthma, height, and the heart trouble came from." Tony shrugged again, standing. "And he gets along with Pepper just fine."

    That struck a nerve. Probably just a hair harder than Tony’s meant to. Which was fine. Steve drew himself up to his full and excessive height. “Well, I don’t think you calling him a runt is going to help with that." He stated, clearly defensive.

    Which Tony wouldn’t, not in front of Jamie. Poor kid already had a complex, Tony wasn’t going to exacerbate it. "Call it what you want. My point stands." Tony headed towards the door, which Steve was blocking just by standing there.

    Steve looked down at Tony sternly. “Still. I don’t want to hear that kind of language out of you, especially around him." And it wasn’t a threat or an order but it was damn close. Tony felt his shoulders tighten and his hands try to form fists, but he kept his posture loose. Rogers tried to moderate his tone back to reasonable, but missed the mark and hit condescending dead on. "You’re supposed to be his family. He doesn’t need to hear that coming from you."

    What a load of bullshit. Jamie wasn’t Tony’s family. Jamie belonged to Steve and Pepper. Phil was the only thing connecting Tony and Jamie, and Phil was on his way out and Tony didn’t need any more reminders of that this particular moment. "Oh, fuck off, Rogers. You don’t get to give me orders off duty."

    Steve just looked even more serious. "I’m not giving you orders, I just-" Steve cut off as Tony radiated _you’re seriously going to try that?_ at him. Steve pretending not to give orders was on a short list of things that pissed Tony off more than Steve giving orders. "Ok, fine. You want to call it an order, call it an order. But _don’t_ let me or him hear you call him that again."

    "Well, in case you hadn’t noticed" Tony gestured behind him to the rest of the room, where Pepper sat, angry at them both "He’s not here."

    Steve actually flinched. Because Steve may be on sure footing when he felt like he was defending Jamie, but didn’t seem to have many defenses against Jamie himself. And didn’t that just sum up parenthood?

    He pushed past Steve, who numbly moved out of the way, and left the room before he had a chance to push Steve from flinching to looking actually distressed, because he couldn’t trust his mouth right now and could get into a real fight if he wasn’t careful.

    Oh Fuck all of this. Tony was getting some scotch and going to bed.

* * *

    Jamie headed towards the Barton’s door, stretching his legs to avoid being overtaken by Sig or Phil. On the one hand, he was pleased to have escaped another leave-it-to-beaver advice session with pop. On the other hand, now he was stuck with an over-tired, crabby Phil until he could get Phil to just go to bed. He really didn’t want to put up with Phil’s whining.

    He knocked on Clint and Alma’s door, and was immediately rewarded with a high, girlish voice shouting, “Come in!"

    Jamie opened the door as Phil pushed passed him into the  living room, but Signe stopped just behind him, and started laughing. She changed back into her female form, like she usually did around Alma, so Alma wouldn’t feel left out. Jamie looked up where Signe was looking, and saw Alma, or at least several pieces of Alma, sticking out of various ceiling tiles. One thin, dark leg was sticking out of one tile, and her head and about 2/3rd of her torso were hanging out of another one, dangling upside down, braids swinging as she waved her free arm at them.

    Despite the awkward angle, her voice was cheerfully reproachful. "Clint boobie-trapped the ceiling! He is the WORST parent I have EVER had!"

    Phil wandered over to directly under where Alma was dangling, craning his head up. He reached up to poke her neck, just under the jaw, and she squealed and slapped his hand. Alma was extremely ticklish. Phil sounded distantly amused "Well, that’s a new one, Al. I’ve never seen you break 4 tiles at once before. Impressive."

    "It was Clint!" She objected, grabbing Phil’s arm and pulling, trying to get some leverage out of the ceiling “He did this on purpose!" Phil pulled back on her arm, trying to wedge her free. While she was upside down right above him. Wasn’t he supposed to be a genius or something?

    "Phil...she’s going to land on her head or yours if you keep doing that" Jamie commented from a safe distance. Alma was 12, but she had long, bony legs and he didn’t want to be caught under one if it swung down.

    "Hm. You’re right" Phil took his arm back "Sorry, Al, looks like you’re stuck up there." He added, strolling away.

    "Aaah! Phil!!" Alma flailed her one arm after him, squeaking her disapproval. Signe laughed again. Phil leaned against the table nearby, arms crossed, looking amused and utterly unhelpful. The table, on the other hand, could be helpful, and would whine about it less than Phil would.

    Jamie looked at Signe "Sig, could you just pull the table over here? I think I can help her down if I can stand up next to her, instead of right under her, and then she won’t have so far to fall."

    Alma smiled, "Thanks Jamie, thanks Signe. Nice to know _somebody_ around here wants to help" Signe dragged the table under Alma with no difficulty, and held the table down while Jamie climbed onto it, trying not to step on any of Alma’s hair clips littering the table. Up close, this seemed more complicated. The ceiling tile had shattered unevenly, and the hole was just too small to get her through without scraping her up badly. He pushed one hand in past her back, and pulled, trying to widen the already ruined tile. It didn’t budge.

    "What’s the prognosis, doc?" Alma enquired with mock seriousness.

    "I think we need to do a tile-ectomy" Jamie answered. He pulled again, but all he got for his trouble was dusty fingers. This would take hours at that rate. He chanced a glance at Phil, who was now sitting in one of the chairs that had been gathered around the table. He was leaning back, one ankle on the opposite knee, still in one shoe, arms crossed, with no apparent intention of helping.

    Jamie considered asking for help. But no, that’s just what Phil was waiting for. He toyed briefly with the idea of trying to make the help request sound like an order. Pop could sometimes get Tony to do things using what Jamie thought of as his "army voice". He busied himself for a couple more seconds, trying to work up the nerve to try it, and failing.  Signe was also starting to toss Phil a couple if disapproving looks.

    Phil yawned and settled further down on the dining chair, then spoke up "You know, most apes can use tools."

    Jamie refrained from snapping back at him. Phil was just like Tony that way. He _liked_ it when he could rile someone up. He tried to come up with something suitably snappy but unaffected, but Signe beat him to it. "Then go and get one, ape.”

    Phil rolled his eyes, but got up off his chair, and went to the hall closet, where Clint kept most of his tools. Phil being Phil, he came back with some bizarre little laser-based tool, instead of a perfectly useable knife. A laser tool that Jamie had only seen a couple of times before, and that he had no idea how to work. He didn’t need to ask if Phil knew how to work it. He would. And Phil didn’t need to ask Jamie if Jamie knew how to work it. He wouldn't. Phil was the one that half lived in the workshop.

    Phil climbed up onto the table next to Jamie and set to work on the tile, suitably far from Alma’s skin to be safe, and hunched over to keep from hitting his head on the ceiling. Within a couple of seconds most of the problem tile had fallen away, giving Alma the room she needed to squirm into a position that let her come down in a controlled, if not really necessary, flip. Jamie and Phil climbed off the table, and Signe put it back more or less where it had been, with Alma sitting happily on it, cross-legged.

    Alma had various ceiling-dust covered cuts on her shoulders and ankle, and Jamie felt a flare of anger at Clint over it. He had no doubt that Clint had, in fact, boobie-traped the ceiling tiles, since he was also the one teaching her to crawl around in ceilings, climb the sides of buildings, and shoot various weapons. Couldn’t he just teach her to play baseball or something?

    "Alma, your arm" he pointed out. It twisted his stomach up thinking about it, but Alma frequently just didn't notice injuries that weren't major. Mom said it wasn't strange, coming from some of the worst parts of a war torn state like Somalia, just like how it had taken her ages to get used to being able to eat whenever she was hungry, but he hated being reminded of that. Once she’d walked around with two industrial staples in her foot for hours without knowing it. It also made him a little jealous; he’d love to be able to ignore demands from his body like that.

    She looked at her arm and shoulder. The cuts weren’t deep, but they were filthy, and one or two of them were dripping some. "Aw, my shirt" was all she said.

    Jamie sighed "You should really go wash that out and put some disinfectant on it.”

    "Psh, I’m fine. Signe got cut up worse than this sparring with Clint yesterday."

    For once Phil backed him up "Sig is a half-Asgaurdian, half-frost giant with super healing powers. You’re a skinny little shrimp. Go wash it out."

    "I am not a shrimp! I’m really tall for a girl my age." She objected, but, at Phil’s say-so, she did go to the kitchen sink and start rinsing the cuts out. "I’m taller than Jamie, and he’s three years older than me."

    Jamie felt his lips thin in irritation, then his shoulders tightened as Phil laughed "Wow, even on four hours of sleep I’m more tactful than you. You suck at talking, Al. You know our little Jamie doesn’t like to be reminded of his status as the tower runt."

    Jamie gritted his teeth. He was more than two years younger than Phil, so of course he’d always been smaller than him, but it seemed like just the last year that Phil started being a jerk about it. About that, and any other thing he felt like prodding. Jamie had given up trying to understand why, and accepted it as a permanent feature of his brothers personality, 

"You have no room to call others puny" Signe butted in with a grin at Phil. She stood a good half a foot above Phil, which seemed to Jamie to be the only thing keeping Phil in line sometimes.

    “You,” Phil retorted, pointing, "are half Frost Giant. Emphasis on _giant_. That’s a whole other scale. Not a fair comparison."

    Signe snickered at Phil, "Runt."

    Phil leaned back in his chair. Sig’s height seemed to tick him off more when she looked like a girl. “Tsh. Shut up."

    Signe pressed on “Besides, you may be taller, but even Alma spars better than you do.” Alma grinned proudly, climbing back up to sit on the table. Alma and Signe both were better fighters than Phil or Jamie. Jamie because he couldn’t breathe well enough, Phil because he refused to practice beyond covering some extremely basic self defense.

    Phil rolled his eyes. “I don’t see you actually winning your bouts either, Sig.” Signe was the only one of the kids allowed to spar full-out with the team. She loved it, but she didn’t generally win.

    Alma interjected indignantly "Only because her dad doesn’t let her use frost powers during sessions. Which is so mean!" Signe looked a bit downcast at that, and looked outright uncomfortable as Alma continued "I can’t believe he _still_ won’t admit that you’re adopted. That’s just...so...I mean..." Jamie caught her eye, and shook his head slightly, trying to cue her to shut up. Alma glanced at Signe’s expression and stopped. She picked up a brightly colored plastic hair clip from the table to fidget with. “Well, it’s dumb, that’s all. Sorry, Sig."

    "It gets old." Signe admitted "But, since I'll likely never be allowed in Asgaurd or Jotunheim, I guess it doesn't matter that much."

    "It’s still stupid." Alma muttered. “I wouldn’t like it if Clint or bapa pretended I wasn’t adopted, or pretended I wasn’t from where I’m from.”

    "Sig, you should talk to him about it." Jamie said, earnestly. "I'm sure he knows that everybody’s figured it out. I mean, we’ve all seen you go blue and everything. He knows we all know you. Why does he keep lying to everybody about it?"

    The tower was so full of secrets. Signe’s birth-parents were just one of the things no-one was allowed to even ask about. Loki was mostly taboo in general. Jamie could almost deal with that. At least everyone knew. The worst secrets were the ones you didn’t know were there until you asked about them and ran into an unexpected and heavily guarded wall. 

    "I don't think he's ever even acknowledged it to dad.” Phil agreed "And both mom _and_ dad told me not to ever say anything about it in front of anyone."

    Signe waved them off. “Ah, you all worry too much. Everyone does know. I will respect his wish to not discuss it yet. Speaking of Loki distresses him." Jamie felt sure that, even though she was trying to brush it off, she was bothered by it. 

    He remembered one particularly uncomfortable moment from several years ago, when Signe had been upset, turned blue, and iced over Thor’s kitchen floor. Jamie had never seen Thor react that way before- with a combination of anger and something that verged on panic. He had really yelled at Signe that day, rattling the room with the force of his voice, and Jamie hadn’t ever been able to shake the memory of that shocked, confused expression in Signe’s face at his reaction.  She’d been off kilter for over a week afterwards. Truth be told, he was still a little angry at Thor for that, even though, overall, he was probably the best father in the tower by Jamie’s estimation. Most of the time he seemed so proud of Signe.

Alma kept playing with her hairclip, thoughtfully. “Do you think your grandparents know? I mean, were you officially adopted, or did Thor sneak his name onto your birth certificate?” 

    Phil squirmed in his seat slightly. He always got squirmy when Signe or Alma seemed upset. He stood up from the table. "Well, this is fun and all, but I’m going the fuck to bed. To dream of getting the hell out of here, and into a magical land of keggers and girls who _aren’t_ practically my sisters. You kids have fun now."

    Jamie rolled his eyes. He didn’t want to hang out with a sleep deprived Phil, but Phil used to actually hang out with them, at least sometimes. Jamie missed when everyone would go swimming together, or when the four of them used to play poker. These days Phil was either by himself in his room or with Tony in the lab, working on his damn nanites. Which reminded him-

    Jamie turned to Phil before he could leave "Hey, Phil" Phil turned and stopped "Have you heard mom say anything about what she wants for her birthday?" Signe and Alma also sat up and looked at Phil. While Jamie’s mom only really claimed him and Phil as her kids, Alma and Signe were also really attached to her, which had resulted in some really interesting gifts over the years. Clearly, they both intended to present her with something again this year.

    Phil grinned the smuggest looking grin Jamie thought he had ever seen. At least, the smuggest grin he'd seen since the last time Phil talked about his pet secret project. "You mean other than my anaphylactic allergy stopping nanites? Which, by the way, are pretty much ready for their debut?". Jamie couldn’t even really be angry at Phil for this one. Nanites that would eliminate their mom’s allergy were, as far as he was concerned, a pure good. He had given up the idea of topping that gift as soon as Phil had told him what he was planning. But he couldn’t show up empty handed, and he hadn’t been able to come up with anything he even felt he could set on a table next to Phil’s gift. “Nope,” Phil continued, “no idea. But I can pull up her browsing history and give you a printout of stuff she’s looked at a bunch of times."

    "That would be much appreciated" Signe said. Alma nodded.

    Phil shook his head, still smiling smugly, "Oh, no, not for you. Just for Jamie. You two will have to beg help off him, or get the info on your own.” Phil said, starting to walk backwards towards the door.

    "What? Why?" Signe demanded.

    "Because _he_ didn’t call me puny." Phil answered, reaching the door. Jamie raised his eyebrows, but honestly that was just like Phil. Insult you, then give you a gift for not insulting him back. "Good night!" he said, shutting the door behind him.

    Jamie rolled his eyes and looked at Signe and Alma, "Don’t worry, of course I’ll share them."

    "Ah, he still likes you the best,” Signe said. But her tone was approving.

    "He does not, he’s just yanking your chain." Jamie retorted. He didn’t want to think about that right now. "Lets go get physical training out of the way, I skipped it yesterday so it’ll take me a while."  Signe and Alma agreed, and Alma went to get a snack to take with her, since she’d missed breakfast.

    He hated the feeling he got at the thought of being Phil’s favorite. Firstly, because he didn’t want to degrade his relationship to Signe or Alma. Secondly, because that phase was over. Phil was getting ready to move on, and he didn’t need Jamie to entertain him anymore. Phil had complained more than any of them about the lack of alternate friends in the tower, and the difficulty with making friends outside the tower. At college that wouldn’t be a problem for him anymore, and Jamie would become truly obsolete. And he knew what Starks did with anything obsolete.

* * *

It’d been an easy little 3 day op, no surprises, no special danger. And, with just her and Clint, low on interpersonal tensions. Just a little intel gathering and contingency planning on an upstate professor with some shady research and an unstable psych profile. Dr Frank Lezanski hadn’t actually crossed any lines of legality yet- although she was pretty sure Director Hill would have still already moved against him by this point, and Fury would have been considering recruiting him. But that wasn’t how the Avengers operated. As long as he didn’t actually cross the line, they’d only watch. Well, watch and set up a system of covert alerts to let them know the moment he made his move.

Clint had gone to find Alma and, he’d noted cheerfully, probabaly to replace some of his ceiling tiles. Natasha took about an hour to herself, and then she was appropriately dressed and off to lunch with Pepper at one of the towers ground floor restaurant options.

Pepper was there before her, seated at their usual table which was, unsurprisingly, the most secluded table in the house. She looked up at Natasha, smiling and stowing away a tablet as Natasha approached. She looked tired, deep lines under her eyes, color-matched perfectly to the rest of her skin with expertly applied concealer.  Par for the course, these days. But her greeting was warm and real. “Hi. Looks like the mission didn’t give you much trouble.”

Natasha took the seat opposite Pepper. “Nope. Pretty much exactly what we expected. How were things back here?”

“Oh, same as usual.”

Natasha tilted her head to the side, picking up her ice water, already on the table. “That bad?” She would keep giving Pepper openings to at least vent. Right now Natasha wasn’t sure how else she could improve things, but that at least she could do.

It worked as the invitation it was. Pepper huffed a wry little laugh. She shook her head. “I don’t know. Maybe this is normal, with the kids getting to this age. I’m sure I was just as stubborn.” 

Natasha didn’t bother bringing up her longstanding belief that normal had never been an option for any of the kids, nor most of the adults who lived at the tower. Nor did she bring up her belief that normal lives seemed to turn out ignorant, vulnerable, unexceptional people and weren’t worth pursuing. Pepper had known normal once, and clung to it harder than the rest of them. It was an old argument that always ended in a draw anyways. Instead, she answered “Maybe. But it doesn’t seem to be agreeing with Tony or Steve.”

Pepper sighed. “It’s not agreeing with me, either, but it is what it is. And maybe Phil will calm down once he’s had a little more freedom.”

“Probably. I suspect he’ll see the value of this group a little more once he has to go out among ‘normal’ people for a while.”

Pepper smirked. “Are you calling my son a snob?”

“No. He is, but no. I just don’t think he’s ever had to interact with someone of an average IQ for more than 5 minutes. If you’re not careful he’s going to end up breaking into R&D on the weekends just to get some intellectual stimulation.”

Pepper laughed. “It wouldn’t surprise me. You weren’t around much back when Bruce first moved in. Tony would _not_ stop pestering him.” She looked wistful. “First Bruce gone to God-knows-where, and now Phil leaving. Tony might have to start actually talking to Stark Industries employees at this rate.”

“And how was everyones favorite genius billionaire philanthropist while I was out?”

Pepper didn’t look at her, she toyed with her fork on the tablecloth. “I don’t know. Either he’s drinking less, or he’s hiding it. I honestly don’t know which. Ever since his last blow up with Steve about it-“ Pepper straightened with a bright, cheery smile as the waitress came towards them, confirming their usual orders. 

As soon as the waitress turned to leave, Pepper’s phone went off. She sighed quietly but deeply, and pulled it out of her purse. She looked pleased when she saw the screen, and answered the call with an apologetic look towards Natasha. “Hi Rhodey.” She listened. “Of course, you know you’re always welcome to stop by, any time.” Her smile dimmed, turning to concern. “About what?” Pause, “that’s not very reassuring. Can’t you just tell me why?” Another pause. “Alright. Yes, Clint and Natasha just got back. Yes, I’ll make sure everyone’s there. The kids? Why would I- ok. Alright. Rhodey you’re really worrying me, here.” She looked exasperated, her her voice didn’t stray from politely concerned. “Alright, I’ll see you at seven. Bye Rhodey.”

Natasha frowned more openly. “What was that about?”

Pepper looked a bit shaken. “I have no idea. Rhodey just said he wants all of us- specifically all of the _adults_ to meet with him tonight to talk about something. But he wouldn’t say what.”

That boded poorly. He’d called Pepper. Not Tony or Steve, so it wasn’t Avengers business. That really left two possibilities- Tony, or the kids. Neither option was comforting. Particularly since Rhodey shouldn’t be in possession of information on either subject that they wouldn’t already know. Unless there was some external threat. Or if Tony really was hiding his drinking and Rhodey’d found out about it. Either way, this was bound to be bad news, aimed close to home. The best they could hope for would be that someone had found Bruce, but even then, he should have called Tony first, not Pepper. 

Natasha nodded. “I’ll talk to Clint and Tony. You get Thor and Steve?” That Pepper would host was assumed. Truthfully, so was the chain of communication, but Natasha would keep offering her chances to let someone else deal with Tony, even if she never took them. It’d be good for them both. Sixteen years divorced and she still felt responsible for him. He still let her be responsible for him.

Pepper shook her head, as expected. “I’ll tell Tony. But if you could get Thor that would be great.”

Natasha agreed. She’d offer to lighten Pepper’s load, but she wouldn’t try to argue Pepper out of it. It was her business. Instead, she changed the subject. They didn’t speculate any further during lunch. They discussed books- the lives of fictional people who they could watch fall apart, then set aside. 

* * * 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Signe uses the "xe" pronoun during internal monologues. It's a gender-neutral pronoun that's only cropped up in English recently. Signe doesn't personally identify with any gender.

It was good to be home. Interpersonal tension in the tower aside, Clint slept easier with the whole family nearby and one of the world’s best security systems turned on and personally invested in Clint’s welfare.

 

After coming home to a busted ceiling and crumbs on the kitchen counter, he smiled and had Jarvis direct him to the kids, and was happy to find three of them in the regular training room. 

 

In the ring, Alma was trying to teach Jamie some grappling moves. Jamie was red in the face and seemed to be having some trouble staying oxigenated.  Nearby, Signe was making ice-pillars out of thin air, then shattering them with various kicks and punches. No mini-Stark today, as per usual. Signe startled guiltily and whipped around to face him when the door opened. Signe positioned himself in front of the pillar as if to hide it. Alma straightened, snapping out of Jamie’s grip effortlessly with a delighted squeal.

 

She jumped over the side ropes, rushing over to him. “Clint! You’re back! Was he a badguy? Did you take him out?” She tackled him in a hug.

 

Clint hugged her back. “Hey peanut. No, we didn’t take him out. Not quite a badguy yet. Gotta give him a chance.”

 

Signe tried to stand nonchalantly in front of the ice pillar. “I wish you didn’t have to wait for him to hurt someone to do something about it.”

 

So did Clint, to be honest, but he also believed in second chances, which meant minimally, people had to be offered first chances not to cross the line. “That’s not how we do things.” Clint found himself glancing back at the door he’s just come through. Thor would be up by now. “And mop that all up before someone slips on it.” Signe slouched uncomfortably, and skulked off to get a mop. Jamie was still gasping a little, and sweating in a long sleeve shirt “You need your inhaler?” Jamie shook his head wordlessly He didn’t look too ok, but he didn’t look likely to keel over from it, so Clint wasn’t gonna butt in.

 

Alma hugged him again. Clint really didn’t know how Tony and Steve coped with having their kids mad at them all the time. He hugged her back. She looked up at him- still up, still for a little while, but she was growing constantly “Is Natasha coming down, too?”

 

“Second Thursday of the month, munchkin- she’s at lunch with Pepper. And don’t pester her about acrobatics till she’s finished up her report.” Alma sighed wistfully. “So, I see you had a little trouble with your homework.”

 

She sighed again, melodramatically. “I got as far as the livingroom, but I had to have help getting out. Self-grade C+.”

 

He flicked one of her braids so it bounced off her nose. “And you left dust everywhere. Call it a C.”

 

The door opened fast and Natasha stood in it, looking grim and nodding Clint into the hall. Alma let him go without further prompting as the three kids attention zeroed in on what had to be Nat with bad news. He joined her in the hall, and followed her away from the doors. He asked as soon as they were out of earshot. “What now?”

 

Her tone was all business “Rhodey’s practically demanding a meeting with all the adults, including Pepper, tonight. He’s on a plane now.”

 

He stopped. The team and Pepper, and clearly not just a friendly dinner. “Intervention?” he hazarded. 

 

She nodded, and there was something cautious in her expression, a subtle warning she was giving him to brace himself. “Maybe. That’s one possibility. Obviously, the other is…”

 

Clint’s blood pressure dropped, his body flipping into the kind of flawless steadiness he used to shoot. “The kids.” She nodded. If Rhodey wanted it _now_ , he must have some kind of new, urgent information. If he wanted to talk to them in person, he was worried about how they would react. So, bad, _new_ news pertaining to the kids. 

 

Clint looked back down the hall. Three kids in attendance, all fine. Phil upstairs sleeping, according to Jarvis. Apparently all four safe, which likely meant an external threat. 

 

And information coming from Rhodey- General Rhodes- high up millitary brass. The Avengers main military contact. Clint felt his hands clench and unclench at his sides. 

 

One of the kids was much more vulnerable against the government than the others. Neither Signe nor Alma were US citizens, but Signe was, as far as the rest of the world was concerned, the granddaughter of Odin. Alma, on the other hand, was the illegal immigrant unofficial daughter of a low-powered and aging superhero who had, maybe a time or two, pissed off a few beaurocrats in the past. “Shit.” 

 

Clint tried to keep outsiders away from Alma. With home schooling and 3 friends right here in the tower, plus a pool and all kinds of facilities, he’d made sure she didn’t have a whole lot of need to go out. She didn’t even seem to mind, if she’d even noticed. Plus, before Banner’d even brought her here the others had all made it very clear to the media that prying into the kids lives was very, very unwelcome. Thor’d made that one yellow journalist nearly wet himself. 

 

Alma wasn’t a secret, not exactly. But Clint had gone well out of his way to keep her out of the spotlight. And, for that matter, keeping his guardianship of her out of the spotlight. 

 

Rhodey’d been an exception from that sequester. Alma called him “Uncle Rhodey”. By the time Bruce had run off and left Clint holding the bag. Alma was already attached. It’d never been a problem. Rhodey might not be an Avenger, but he was one of them. Tony’s functional big brother-and a damn good brother- on top of that. If he saw a threat, Clint was going to take that seriously.

 

Natasha put a hand on his arm. “Don’t panic yet. Things around here aren’t such a mess that we can’t protect our own. You have good allies. Besides, if it is Alma someone is targeting…well…it could be worse.”

 

Clint narrowed his eyes at her, trying not to be offended on Alma’s behalf. Nat was the only resident of the tower who didn’t personally claim any of the kids as her own. She had her own 1 bedroom apartment by herself. But he didn’t doubt her investment in them. “Worse? How could that be worse?”

 

Natasha smiled like a shark. “Put that kid in front of any interviewer and she’ll be a media darling in 5 minutes flat.  I’m honestly more worried people have finally figured out to be afraid of Signe.”

 

Well that was a point. Clint rubbed his face. “Christ. 2014 all over again, but now there’s two of them. Great.” People had called for more governmental control of Thor before. Thor’d thought it was funny at first. When he finally got pissed about it, things had gotten uncomfortable and the Avengers as a whole had been out of favor with the public for a while. They did not need bad press when their house was a mess. He let his hands drop "Is there a plan, or do we wait and see?"

 

She shrugged. "Unless someone can think of something to do, I'm assuming we wait and see what he has to say. In the mean time, try not to set off any alarms with the kids. Rhodey said he didn't want them there."

 

"That'll make them nuts." he commented blandly.

 

"They'll live." she answered. "Better than scaring off an informant."

 

Clint exhaled heavily. Not setting off alarms meant acting like he wasn't using about 40% of his brain going over potential scenarios and how to deal with them, and that he wasn't scared in a deep, primal way. Clint was a passable actor, but less so when the target knew him well. Signe tended to take things at face value, but Jamie was constantly scanning for deception and Alma had finely tuned abilities with sensing danger warnings from parent figures. "Does Thor know yet?"

 

She shook her head. "He's next."

 

"Let me tell Thor, you go act normal with the kids, ok?" 

 

She nodded. "All right. Meeting's at seven. Good luck."

 

Right.

 

* * *

 

Thor found himself sometimes dreaming of Asgard these days. When he was younger, he could be gone from his home realm for years and barely notice it.  But 17 years was a little on the long side, even for him, and in the past, he had traveled with others of his own kind, who knew his home as he did, and who lived their lives at the same pace as he did. 

 

The others had drawn away from him, in recent years. Perhaps they had drawn away from each other as well, but it was hard to say. He was, very simply, lonely. He had Signe, of course, and she was at greatest advantage on Midgard. He still loved his Midgardian family as much as he ever had, but while Signe had been raised with the assumption of those around her aging, this was Thor’s first real experience with it. He didn’t care for it. 

 

So he was sitting, alone, wondering at what age he could leave Signe behind for a period so he could travel home…just for a while…just to see his friends who he would return to when his task on Earth was completed.  Certainly, there were many conversations he would have to have with his daughter before that could occur. None of them were conversations he wished to have. It was as he considered these conversations that there was a knock on his door- a rare occurrance now, particularly when Signe was already out with the other children.

 

“Come.” He said, straightening. He was pleased when it was Clint that opened the door. But he wore an expression Thor associated with a mission, not for a pleasurable chat between friends. Thor waved him into the room, and Clint entered, walking to join Thor on the sofa, moving aside of of the hoodies that Signe often carried around but constantly left places, since she never actually wore them. “Did your mission go well?”

 

“Mission was fine. We have a new issue. Rhodey’s coming by with some kind of news. Wanting to talk to all the parents.”

 

Thor’s chin rose, taken aback. “The parents.”

 

Clint nodded. “That’s what Nat said.”

 

“Did he say why?”

 

“Sounds like he refused to say why. He called Pepper while she was at lunch with Nat.”

 

Likely trouble. He looked at his friend’s grim expression. It had been near a year since Signe had last lost her temper in any meaningful fashion, and it had been in private, at home. It was nothing that should have come to the attention of anyone outside the tower. 

 

But she grew taller nearly by the day. Already she was just above Thor in height. He had expected this, eventually. Even dressed in jeans and t-shirts and with other secrets locked tight under her skin, Signe stood out. She may not know her true decent, but all knew she was not born of Midgard. As her size and skill increased, so to would the attention she received because of it. 

 

The time for some conversations may need to be nearer at hand. If the people of Earth would fear her, she must be given the opportunity to show herself a champion of the realm she considered her home. Moreover, she must then rise to that challenge, and prove herself wiser and more compassionate than he had been when first he arrived here as a resident of Earth, rather than a god. 

 

A year without a tantrum seemed a short amount of time to move from being a child to being a champion. But Signe was by blood a warrior and a princess. If the need arose, surely she would meet it. He suspected convincing the team to let her try would be the more challenging task.

 

Thor nodded to himself. “So be it. I have too many words which are overdue. If Rhodey wishes to bring me a catalyst I will thank him for the warning that change is needed.”

 

Clint sat back, watching Thor, clearly surprised by what he’d said. “You think he’s coming about Signe.”

 

“Well, I doubt anyone is concerned about the risks posed by Jamie.” Thor answered wryly. Truthfully, he thought they should be. The bitterness between James and his older and naturally inheriting brother twisted Thor painfully. And Jamie was quiet, clever, observant, and difficult to read. He was not to be underestimated. But they were young enough that hopefully real conflict was yet years away. 

 

Clint snorted, but then sobered again. “Could be an outside threat.”

 

Thor nodded. “I hope so. Better that than that others are aware of private affairs.”

 

“Hm. I guess.” Clint did not look convinced. 

 

Thor reached a hand to plant on his friend’s shoulder. “We have defended them for this long. And they are more capable than they have ever been. If someone threatens our children, then they will face the same fate as their predecessors.”

 

Clint looked at him wearily. There were many weary eyes in the tower, lately. “Thor, Phil’s been kidnapped _four times_. Signe twice, and Jamie once. Our track record here isn’t exactly spotless. Besides, Rhodey’s our _government_ contact. It might not be an underground group causing problems.”

 

Thor snorted this time. “If that’s all it is then I will be pleased.  I suppose it is about time again. Elected officials have short memories.”

 

Clint was not pleased with this response. Perhaps because, having served in the military, it grieved him more to stand against his own government. Thor couldn’t blame him for that. “Yeah, you would say that. Well. 7pm meeting. Guess we’ll find out. We’re trying to avoid tipping off the kids, by the way. It’ll make them nuts if they realize this is going on without them, and Rhodey doesn’t want them there.”

 

Thor took a slow breath. It wouldn’t hurt the children to wait an hour for the information. “Very well. I will be there, and see to it Signe stays at home.”

 

Clint nodded. “Right. See you then.”  

 

* * *

Somebody was trying to shake Phil out of his nice, cozy sleep. He groaned and put his pillow over his head.

 

He heard Jamie’s voice, clearly aggravated “Phil. _Phil._ Come on, get up already.”

 

    Phil didn’t dignify this demand with moving his face out from under the pillow “No emergency alarm, no waking up.”

 

    “This is a _potential_ emergency. You hafta get up.” Jamie sounded serious, but not particularly scared. Probably not a real emergency. Phil spared a glance at his clock from under the pillow. 10am. He’d only been asleep for about an hour.

 

    “Uugh. What the fuck, Jamie, I’m sleeping. I only got four hours last night, remember?” He grunted.

 

    Phil felt a small movement in the sheets of his bed, then a much larger tug that yanked the sheets right off the bed and landed him on the floor in a tangle. Above him, Signe stood smirking in her female form, and Alma giggled. Signe looked vaguely worried, but nothing about her posture said “urgent”. There was no way this was worth waking up for.

 

    He glared up at them from the tangle on the floor “This is not making me feel cooperative.”

 

    Jamie leaned over him, lecturing as Phil sat up halfheartedly “We have a situation. Mom wants us to go to pop’s place after dinner.”

 

    Phil flopped back down onto the floor, putting his pillow back over his face. “ _So?_ She’s probably just having the floors polished or something and wants us out from under foot. I know you like avoiding him, but having to tolerate Steve is not an emergency situation.”

 

Jamie looked annoyed. “She’s not- she would have mentioned something like that. Besides, she’d do that during the day, not at night. And we’re having dinner early tonight, so she wants us out of the way at a specific time. _And_ she gave me the talk that means we won’t be supervised and expects us to ‘behave’ anyways, which means pop wont even be there.”

 

Alma poked Phil with a bare foot, trying to nudge him upright. “And Clint and Thor told us to stay home alone tonight to.”

 

Ok, that was kind of fishy. But Phil was tired and didn’t feel like dealing with this. “Maybe they’re planning a surprise party for me.”

 

Jamie looked supremely unimpressed. “And Signe and Alma and I aren’t invited?”

 

Phil flapped a hand at him. Obviously that wasn’t it, but still. “No kids allowed. 18+.” He switched his brain on and tried to come up with a non-suspicious reason for this. Not a surprise party, then. If mom was involved, then the meeting was about the tower, Stark Industries, or the family.

 

All of which impacted Phil directly. Way more directly than a mission briefing would. Whatever the subject, they’d be discussing information he had a need- no, a _right_ to know. He still wasn’t going to stand up. He stretched his arms out along the mattress. “So, planning to spy on them, then?”

 

    Whatever Jamie read into Phil’s tone made him frown and puff up. “I just think we need to get the facts right. Whatever they end up telling us will probably be really heavily sugar-coated and I’d like them to figure out we can handle just being told things-“

 

    Phil’s cut him off with a hand wave “Settle down. I’m not complaining. I’m as sick of _that_ bullshit as you are.” Probably more so. Phil was almost 18. More than old enough to handle the truth about things without parental filters. Tony’d had a college degree and had been living on his own for years by the time he was Phil’s age. Phil didn’t like what it implied about how he saw Phil that he didn’t want to treat him like an adult. 

 

Because they all lied. A _lot_. Every one of them. About injuries and drinking and about where they were and any other damn thing they wanted to. They lied to the kids, to the outside world, and to each other. They didn’t seem to have noticed that all the kids compared notes, and had caught them in more than one of the lies without confronting them about it. Phil wasn’t sure whether the lies were part of what was making things in the tower fall apart, or the only thing holding it together, but he couldn’t stand it any more. It was stupid and insulting.

 

    Signe, however, who was almost as old as Phil, looked unhappy about this, hands shoved grumpily into her pockets. “You know, they _will_ tell us if it’s something important.”

 

    “Eventually.” Phil added pointedly.

 

    “What they think we _should_ know” Jamie added. Phil nodded. 

 

    Signe was the least bothered, somehow. She trusted Thor. Who, ok, was probably the most honest of them. The biggest lies he told were the ones no-one believed anyways. Just lies of politeness, not of actual deception. She turned to Alma “You trust Clint. Do you think we should spy on them?”

 

    Alma blinked up at her guillessly . “Clint says it’s good for me to take initiative” Phil smirked. Little twerp. Clint would not approve of this, but she was willing to play innocent and get a minimum sentence if caught.

 

    Signe gave a resigned but disapproving sigh, and sat on the bed. “Very well. But they’ll know we’re likely to try. Jarvis will be watching the hallways.” The hallways, yes, but Clint, Natasha, Thor and Steve had all refused to have J’s full sensors in their private quarters. They were partial surveilance deadzones. Phil had demanded the same for himself a couple years ago, for his room. He checked regularly to ensure that scans beyond his presence were disabled, and that Jarvis could only hear him if addressed.

 

    Phil gestured to Alma “Al’s been taking rappelling lessons. She can just climb up outside.”

 

    Jamie scowled “No she can’t. That’s insane.”

 

    Phil finally stood “Settle down, I was just kidding.

 

    “No you weren’t” Jamie pouted. That wasn’t completely accurate. Phil wasn’t kidding or serious. He was the idea guy. Sorting the ideas was Jamie’s domain.  “Anyways, I’ve been thinking about this since last time. Alma, can you scramble the security feeds just a tiny bit, for a minute or two? Just enough to block vitals tracking in the hallways.”

 

    Alma nodded “I think so.”

 

    “And Phil, could you tweak the mini microphone you gave me so that it sends a feed Jarvis wont notice from my guitar to pops’s place? It still transmits fine, I just don’t know whether it transmits something Jarvis will detect. Depending on how important this talk is, Tony may increase how much he has Jarvis report to him.”

 

    “You still _have_ that?” Phil asked, one eyebrow raised. He’d given that to Jamie like five years ago, so Jamie could record when he was practicing guitar. It was just a dumb little thing, not worth keeping this long. Phil did have some of the recordings, though, quietly fished off Jamie’s account.

 

    “Why _wouldn’t_ I still have it?” Jamie was somehow annoyed by Phil’s implication, so Phil just shrugged.

 

    “Yeah, I can do that. At this range it’s pretty simple.” He agreed. Phil  knew every kind of scan and most of the standard scan cycles. He’d memorized them, trying to find ways around them. Ways of getting privacy, independence, and self sufficiency. He and Alma both were experts in the towers security system, although Alma used it more like a security blanket than anything else. Well, she was twelve.

 

    Signe looked up at Jamie from the bed “Do I have any particular duties?”

 

    Jamie nodded “If you can use some illusions to make you and Al look like cleaner bots while the vitals tracking is down, we wont have to scramble the video feed. Jarvis _will_ tell Tony if the video feed goes down.” He addressed all of them, “then just make sure you both get to pop’s place.”

 

    Phil nodded. Seemed like a straightforward enough plan. Well, as straightforward as stealth in a tower with some of the worlds’ top security systems could be, anyways. He really had no idea why badguys were so perpetually ineffective.  If Phil ever wanted to go supervillain he was sure he could take over New York at least within about four hours. Well, the four of them could, anyways. And wouldn’t that be embarrassing for everyone over the age of 20.

 

    “What about getting back to our rooms?” Alma asked.

 

    This time Jamie hesitated, fidgeting with the edge of his shirt. “Well. What if we…didn’t?”

 

    Signe was skeptical “You mean just…get caught?”

 

    Jamie drew himself up to his full, puny, height. “I think it’s time for us to…sort of take a stand. Let them know we…we demand to be kept in the loop. It’s one thing if it’s a matter of national or planetary security but this is about _us._ It almost has to be. So we have a right to know what’s going on. If it’s not about us then…fine. We’ll turn it off. But I think it is, and I’m tired of being treated like I can’t handle anything.”

 

    Phil grinned, and clapped. “Alright, Jamie! Finally growing some balls!” he crowed. He really hadn’t been spending much time with Jamie lately, distracted as he was with getting ready to go and with mom’s nanites and with generally avoiding being around any two of the adults at the same time to watch them clash. He hadn’t realized Jamie was as pissed off about all this as he was. It absolutely warmed his heart.

 

    Jamie blushed, and glared, probably because Phil mentioned “balls”. Kids these days. Signe actually looked more comfortable with this plan, since she hated keeping secrets about as much as Phil hated secrets being kept from him. Part of why they got along. 

 

    “Very well.” She agreed.

 

    Alma rolled her eyes and crossed her arms “You guys and your drama. Fine.”

 

    Jamie relaxed, now his plan had been accepted. “Ok. Be ready by dinner. Check in before proceeding. I’ll have a silent alert set up.”

 

    Phil grinned again, piling his sheets back up on the bed. Plenty of time for some sleep before he had to get to work. And he’d sleep better knowing he’d be getting back some of his own tonight. This would be a good day. Loud, probably, but worth it.

 

* * *

 

Steve had always liked Rhodey.  He’d been a friend to the family and an ally to the team for ages, and was one of the main reasons Tony had survived long enough for Steve to even meet him. He had a good head on his shoulders, clear priorities, and strong values. 

 

But right now, Steve didn’t want to see him. Not because he was probably bringing bad news, Steve usually liked to get to that as fast as he could. But because he’d always felt Rhodey had entrusted him with something. It used to be Rhodey and Pepper, and, to a lesser extent, Happy, who’d held Tony together. He’d always had a sense that Rhodey had felt able to back off a little once Steve was in the picture. Especially once they were more-or-less living together. And Rhodey had gone to bat with the brass for the team more than once- the team Steve was the leader of. So he’d entrusted Steve with his family, and with a high-powered team, and a lot of autonomy.

 

But after years of success and happiness, Steve was failing. They were still winning their fights, for now, but Tony was getting reckless, isolated, withdrawn. He’d been seen hungover at all hours of the day. He had his reasons- Steve could understand that- he just couldn’t do much about it, and Tony pretty clearly didn’t want to talk to him anymore. 

 

The fallout of that was nipping at the edges of his own focus, his own ability to cope. He was keeping an eye on it- trying to make sure it didn’t impact his ability to get done what needed doing to keep the world safe. It was a comfort and an embarrassment that he was pretty sure Natasha was watching him for the same thing. He was pretty sure she was the only one that realized that Steve had never managed to see Tony as a brother, the way he’d have liked to. Which, well, she was the only one who’d caught him _with_ someone, back years ago. She never said anything, though. And even if he’d loved Tony in a more…productive way, he still would have loved him, and still would have hurt to see him like this. 

 

He wondered what Rhodey saw, looking at the 6 of them assembled on Pepper’s big L-shaped couch. He’d known them all as long or longer than Steve had, so he probably got a good read on things. Steve scanned the crowd, trying to see them from Rhodey’s perspective.

 

Clint had his favorite spot in the couch's corner where he could watch the rest of the room. He was perched on the back of the couch, stretching an aching wrist absently. Natasha was lounging next to him, relaxed except for her expectant and sharp gaze. Next to her was Pepper, sitting on the very front edge of the couch cushion with her back ramrod straight and concern in her tired eyes. Tony sat in the corner joint, one ankle up on his opposite knee and arms spread along the back of the couch, his fingers tapping impatiently behind Pepper’s head. His expression was one of general displeasure, and wariness. Steve had sat next to Tony, a few feet off to the side, arms crossed over his chest, trying not to jump to any conclusions. Thor, taking up the other couch end, was the most comfortable of all of them, but seemed distant.

 

Rhodey was at the center, sitting on the ottoman where he could face everyone.  He was in plain clothes, but had the look of a man about to deliver condolences. He exhaled, running over them with his eyes again. “Ok, look. Before we start this, I just want to remind everyone that I have always stood by this team and this family as much as I possibly could. This is not a deviation from that, so don’t shoot the messenger, ok? I’m not even officially here.”

 

Tony spoke first, impatient “Then let’s just cut to the chase, can we please?”

 

Pepper kept her eyes on Rhodey “Is it the tower, the kids, or Tony?”

 

Steve surpressed a wince. Tony straightened, leaning forward to see her face. “What?” Tony looked about to argue, his expression equal parts hurt and angry, but Rhodey cut him off.  

 

"It's the kids." All eyes snapped to Rhodey, who looked resigned. "I'm here to give you a heads up. I think we all knew this was coming, but the kids are starting to attract attention. Military attention. Community attention. I wanted you to hear it from me." For the first time Steve could remember he was glad Bruce wasn't here.  It wasn't something any of them wanted to hear.

 

"Why now?" Pepper asked, focused.

 

Rhodey sighed, giving her an apologetic look. He pulled an old-fashioned, stapled  stack of paper out of a pocket- printed to avoid hacking by either Tony, or as part of the kids’ never ending arms race against parental limits. "I got these in this morning, forwarded to me. College admissions counselors have been sending it in to us.” He looked down at the top sheet. “‘A Review of Current Literature On the Use of Nanites to Alter and Improve Human Brain Tissue, and My Better Theory, by Phillip Yinsin Potts Stark.'"  he looked back up at them. "Alter and Improve Human Brain Tissue.’” he repeated.

 

For a second, all eyes were on Rhodey, then, with varying degrees of sublety, the focus shifted to Tony and Pepper, who seemed to be the most surprised ones. Pepper looked back at Tony, who shrugged with his eyebrows and his mouth hanging slightly open.

 

Ok, that sounded bad. Steve had to admit that. But Phil wasn't megalomaniacal. He wasn't even particularly interested in power, as far as Steve could see. Independence, sure, but he wasn't the taking-over-the-world type, and hadn't shown any interest in making weaponry. There had to be more to the story here.

 

Tony caught sight of everyone watching them and turned defensive in an instant. "It's a _paper_. About _theory._ Can everyone just settle down, please?"

 

Rhodey’s understanding but serious expression didn’t so much as waver "The one under that outlines experimental procedures for testing of the same. On human subjects."

 

Peppers eyes widened. "Rhodey, I haven't seen these essays. Do you mind if I..." she held her hand out, and he handed the papers over. She started reading them, eyebrows drawn down and lips tight.

 

Tony gestured at Rhodey. "Are you serious with this? You _know_ Phil. He wouldn't-"

 

Rhodey cut him off again before he could rev up. "Tony, I _know_ , ok? But you have to know how this is going to look to other people. There are still people who remember your company for weapons manufacturing. And this one...this could be a really scary new level of warfare. Even to me, ok? This is some serious science fiction shit, if he can pull it off."

 

"He can't." Tony shot back with certainty. "The tech side maybe. But he's not an MD. And where would he even _get_ human test subjects?"

 

There was a collective suppressed flinch. They’d fought plenty of “Mad Scientists."  Somehow or another, they always seemed able to get ahold of human subjects for their work. Usually, neither the method nor the result were pretty. But the acquiring of the subjects didn’t seem to be a real barrier to a dedicated genius.

 

"And it's not just Phil." Rhodey forged on.  "Look, people know about the ninja lessons and the ice powers and the illusions. And now the kids are getting older, it's gonna make some people nervous." The tension in the room turned dense, attention turning back to Rhodey again. "Your kids are fast becoming as smart, as strong, and as well trained as the Avengers. But they are _teenagers._ Alma's not even that. They don't have the control or maturity of adults, and they don't have the defense of saying they've saved the world a couple dozen times yet."

 

Pepper looked up. "Yet? They _aren't_ saving the world."

 

Thor spoke up. "Signe will. She just…hasn’t quite yet.”

 

Steve was relived, but not surprised that nobody was bringing up Jamie. Of the four kids, he was easily the least threatening. The most likely to live a normal life. But even if he could understand people being nervous about the other three kids, he didn't like it. They’d taken measures to allow the kids some privacy against the outside world, and it’d helped, but Rhodey was right. This kind of attention was inevitable. Which meant SHEILD had probably already put them on threat watch by now.

 

Clint cut in, clearly defensive "So I taught her some self-defense. So? Didn't you teach your kids anything?"

 

Rhodey turned to Clint. "Yeah, I did. But you know Alma is head and shoulders above them. And I don’t think people know about her surveillance skills yet, but if people start prying around here-.”

 

Natasha arced an eyebrow. “Are we expecting them to come prying around here?”

 

“I think you should start expecting them to try.” Rhodey answered frankly.

 

“Well don’t expect us to let them.” Clint fairly snapped back. Pepper glanced up briefly from where she was reading the paper with a look of growing concern, she handed a few pages off to Tony, who’d started reading over her shoulder and was engrossed and, from the looks of it, _worried_ enough, to be barely paying attention to the conversation.

 

Thor seemed less angry, more thoughtful, planful. “What is it they want, these ‘concerned’ people?”

 

Rhodey broadcast his expectation for a bad reaction with his expression. "For now...to start...some psychological testing."

 

He got what he was expecting. Several people tensed. Clint’s voice went quiet. "You want to send some social worker in here to evaluate their brains and make government files.”

 

Thor shook his head slightly, sitting up straighter, it wasn’t what he’d been expecting. "I don't like the thought of that."

 

Natashas eyes narrowed. "Those assessments are worthless anyways."

 

"She's right." Tony agreed promptly, but without looking up.

 

"Just so we're clear" Steve interjected, trying to bring down the tension some. Rhodey was the messenger, giving them a warning, that was all. "This is a _suggestion,_ right?"

 

Rhodey nodded. "Right. Like I told you, I'm not even officially here. Call it a friendly heads up. I figured you wouldn't like being caught by surprise. But the kids are growing up. People are going to notice them. And they know about the rappelling lessons and the nanites and yeah- about the frost powers.” Rhodey finished, looking at Thor, who inhaled deeply and clenched his jaw. “Phil’s going to go to college in a couple months- I assume he’ll make friends. The privacy you had set up for them as kids was a good idea, but it’s not going to hold. I hope you’re going to start prepping for that.”

 

Pepper finally looked up from the paper with an expression of concern and steely resolve. “Thank you, Rhodey.” She said calmly. “We’ll talk it over and get back to you.”

 

And just like that, the conversation was over. Rhodey nodded, clearly dissappointed but recognized the clear dismissal, and didn’t argue.

 

* * *  


Jamie watched Phil pace around pops’s livingroom. "What the FUCK? What the actual FUCK?". He was shouting. He had been shouting since Rhodey had read the essay title aloud. It wasn’t making listening to the adults or getting his own thoughts in order any easier.   
  
"They think I'm some kind of supervillain!" Phil was ranting “I just wrote an essay! And it's not like I was talking about how to...I mean..." Phil was freaking out. Whatever was in that essay must have been really bad. Or at least, have sounded really bad.

   
Jamie looked up at Phil from where he was sitting on the floor. "You wrote it about mom’s birthday present, didn't you?" No common sense. _At all._

  
Signe sat up, affronted on Phil’s behalf "But that’s a service to your mother! They can't object to that! Who wants their mother to have a deadly allergy?"

  
"Right!?!” Phil rounded on them, looking more than a little desperate. He'd been running his hands through his hair out of agitation, and had developed a really impressive mad scientist looking hairdo in the process- curls that were already at weird angles from sleeping on them wet were now sticking up in every possible direction. His eyes were wide and kind of wild, and his voice just kept getting louder "I was trying to make things BETTER! Why should the military get in my way?"

 

It was not a comforting sight. All three of them just paused, looking at him for a moment. "You should comb your hair" was all Jamie could think to say.

  
"And speak more quietly" Signe added. “And… maybe not pace so much"

  
“Yeah.” Alma agreed faintly.

  
"What the hell are you talking about?” Phil snapped.

 

Alma's worry was quieter, younger seeming “Are we in trouble with the government?"

 

Jamie sighed, pressing the earpeice in further. "Maybe I could figure that out if Phil would quiet down a little."

 

Phil sneered. "Easy for you to say. Nobody's worried about _you_ doing anything." Jamie bit his tongue.

 

Signe patted Alma’s shoulder “I don’t think ‘trouble’,  Alma. They’re just…intimidated.”

 

Alma persisted, focusing on Signe “But what if they don’t want us here anymore? Like how Natasha had to leave Russia?”

 

“What?” Signe seemed startled by that statement. Jamie hadn’t thought of that. He couldn’t really equate Alma with Natasha having to leave a secret service after a regime change, but still. He was quickly distracted by the sound of pops coming down the hallway.

 

He focused on the door, his mouth gone dry, and the others followed suit. Jamie squared his shoulders, trying to make up for some of the nervousness he felt. He reminded himself that he'd planned this. Wanted it.

  
Pop opened the door, Mom and Tony behind him. Pop paused in the door, unhappy but not surprised to find all four of them inside. He gave them that disappointed face he made when Jamie failed to make the grade again in some important way.

  
"Do I even need to say it?" Pop asked the assembled kids. He was mad, and letting it show through.

  
"No, Rogers, you don't" Tony snapped from behind him, pushing his way past pop into the room. He re-regulated his voice a bit and addressed Phil a little more calmly "Come on. Time for a talk." Tony added without moving “Jarvis, let Clint and Thor know Alma and Signe are down here.”

  
Pop wasn’t ready to let it go. "Tony, they were spying on us. On a meeting with a government representative. This isn’t just them trying to figure out their Christmas presents here. Are you just going to give that a pass?"

  
Tony kept his calmish tone, but it was cracking at the edges. "Yes, Rogers, for right now, I am. It's not like it's the first time, and I have better things to focus on right now."

  
Mom gestured to Phil to come over to her, as pop continued talking. “It not being the first time is part of the problem. Those same people worried about the essay would have a field day if they heard Phil was spying on meetings in this tower in _addition_ to working with dangerous experimental technology.”

  
Tony, Jamie and Phil bristled in unison.

  
Tony shot back immediately, stepping aggressively close to pop "Who said Phil started that?"

  
"It was my plan, not Phil’s.” Jamie objected, not as loud as he'd meant it to be.

  
"It's supposed to be a birthday day present!!" Phil shouted, running his hands through his hair again.

  
That startled the adults into a brief silence as they looked at Phil. "A...birthday present?" Mom asked, uncertainly. Clint, Natasha and Thor arrived behind them.  
Phil, eager to respond and clear his good name, readied himself for a rushed explanation, but he was cut off by Alma.

“Clint, am I supposed to be here? I mean not _here_ here, but New York? America?” She stepped forward, towards Clint, who looked taken aback.

Clint just blinked at her for a second. Which was bad. Clint was very very infrequently caught completely off guard by anything. He didn’t seem to have an immediate reassurance to pull out for Alma, which got everyone’s attention.

“Where else would you be, munchkin?” He asked, eventually.

“Somalia.” She said, her eyes worried. Her bare feet showed her toes curled inward, gripping the carpet like she was worried about being carried off.

Clint reached an arm to her, signaling her to join him. “You’re fine, don’t worry about it. Now come on, we need to deal with this.”

She took a step back, away from him, arms curling in front of her “But it’s official, right? I mean, _officially_ official, right? 'T's crossed and everything?” Alma was getting more anxious, and her voice was raising in pitch and lowering in volume. Jamie started to get mad on Alma’s behalf. Could Clint really have failed to make sure Alma was here legally and officially?

“Alma, it’s fine” Clint persisted, still reaching his arm out.

“But is it _legal?_ Am I legally, officially _yours?”_ Alma asked, stepping back again.

Mom was giving Clint a weird look. “Clint…?”

“It’s _fine.”_ He said, more sharply. Nobody seemed to believe him. Alma looked away, and she had tears in her eyes. She pushed past Clint, then the other adults. Pop looked for a second like he might try to stop her, but then he glanced at Clint, who was hanging his head slightly and didn’t seem to have anything much to say for himself, and he let her go. Mom looked heartbroken, and put a hand up over her chest, watching Alma go.

Jamie, who nobody seemed to need to talk to right now, pushed past into the hallway after her. Pop followed him. Jamie stopped, watching Alma’s stiff-legged walk break into a run towards the elevator as she wiped at her eyes with one arm. He wanted to help, but couldn't think of anything to say. He felt so useless. He ended up just standing there, watching her go. 

He heard Tony’s voice from inside the room again, this time more insistent. “Phil, let’s go.”

“But I didn’t _do_ anything-“ Phil started to object, and this time, he was cut off by Mom.

“Tony, slow down. Clint, you have to go say something to her.”

  
"Like what?" Clint snapped "Banner gave me _nothing_. She has _no_ documentation and if she did, I still couldn't adopt her." He stretched one arm, keeping it from cramping due to tension "I'll talk to her after she's had a while to calm down"

  
"They can't deport Alma!" Jamie objected, horrified

  
Clint joined Jamie in the hall, in time to watch the elevator door close."They aren't going to deport her. I took care of it."

  
Pop looked like he might be about to say something to that, but Clint interrupted with a sharply muttered "Keep out of it" as he started down the hall. Natasha hesitated, then with an irritated sigh followed him down the hallway.

  
"Deported?" Signe muttered again. "Because she isn't legally adopted? Can they do that?"

  
Tony sighed a bit, looking almost as twitchy as Phil "Technically, yes, but-"

  
"Father, am I legally adopted?" Signe interrupted, anxiously.

  
Thor froze absolutely still. Everyone present turned to look at him. Jamie hadn’t heard anyone ever ask Thor anything directly. And he pretty obviously hadn’t been expecting it.  But based on how the adults warned him NOT to mention it, he could guess that the subject had been brought up before, and gone badly. So, despite Signe occasionally turning blue, and creating illusions, and being able to create ice out of nothing, and despite her looking not even a little like Thor, nobody ever said a word. Till now.

  
"Wh-" Thor pasted on a large but nervous smile "What do you mean? You do not need to be ad-"

  
Signe cut him off. "Stop that! There is no need to pretend in front of anyone here! These people are my family! Is my adoption _binding_? By Midgard or Asgardian standards?”

  
All eyes returned to Thor. Thor looked at Signe. "You didn't need adopting! You are my natural-born daughter!"

  
Signe looked horrified "I had damn well better not be!"

  
Thor looked genuinely stung by that, but rallied immediately "What? Why would you say such a thing!?"

  
"Because Loki was adopted but he was still your _brother_! Gross! Father, you _didn't_! I mean...I know that...with shape changing…but…but you _didn’t!_ ”

  
Thor sputtered incoherently for a moment "Signe!"

  
She stared back, mouth open in scandalized horror. "You. _Didn't._ "

  
"Of course I didn't! But why should you bring my brother’s name into this?" Thor looked almost ready to bolt, and was getting louder by the word.

  
Signe stared at him. There was an uncomfortable beat.

  
Then another.

  
Tony broke the silence "Really?"

  
Signe finally burst "You thought I didn't _know_?"

  
Mom sighed, covering her eyes with one hand.

  
Steve looked somewhat tentative "Thor, you didn't really think...that nobody had figured it out.... I mean....”

  
"You thought I _didn't know_!" Signe was definitely accusing now, she took a step towards him, pointing one stiff hand at him. "You actually thought to keep this from me!"

  
"Only until you were older!" Thor objected. He glanced around the room at the various nonplussed or offended expressions. Well, Tony looked amused, but that wasn’t very helpful either.  
Signe was getting red in the face at this point, but starting to look a little bluer "I- You...I.. _.Didn't you learn ANYTHING_?"

  
"Seriously." Phil added, by way of support. Mom nudged him to be quiet.

  
"Well, he has a point" Tony added, by way of supporting Phil. Mom gave him an exhausted glare.

  
"This is not your concern, Tony!" Thor shouted. He seemed relived to have someone to aim his frustration and embarrassment at, but there was no way that distraction was going to hold up.

  
Signe let out wordless scream of frustration, and marched into the hall, the small crowd parted for her. She stalked down the hall, her skin darkening and taking on the familiar telltale color.

  
"Signe!" Thor objected, following her, but refusing to run, and so falling behind.

  
She made one large gesture without breaking her stride or turning around, and a sheet of ice sealed the hallway behind her, a good half a foot thick, completely blocking the remaining hall and the elevator.

  
"Signe!" Thor bellowed after her, rushing the few long steps the wall.

  
Jamie blinked at the ice "Woah. I've never seen her do one that thick before."

  
“He is _really_ pissed off." Phil seconded, suddenly at Jamie’s side. He looked a little pleased. Probably to have the attention off him, which was an ironic change of pace.

  
"Great” Tony grumped at the block of ice barring their elevator access.

  
Pop turned to Thor “Thor, I'm guessing you left a window open upstairs for Mjölnir? You can use my balcony. I think you should go and talk to her…quickly."

  
"Before she breaks all your shit" Phil added

  
Steve continued "Jamie and I can stay here and get through the ice. I still have the heater in the spare closet. You'll help me out, won't you, Jamie?" Pop put his huge hand on Jamie’s back, and Jamie felt his shoulders stiffen at the contact immediately. Pop reluctantly dropped his hand.

  
"Thank you, Steve" Pepper said, one hand on Phil’s shoulder, directing him towards the stairwell and away from Jamie. Jamie watched him go, Tony following behind them, hands in his pockets. Phil gave one last nervous glance back at Jamie, who shrugged, unable to think of anything he could do to help. Phil looked like he was going in front of a firing squad. Jamie had to remind himself that mom and Tony were Phil’s parents. They knew him. And plus, they let him get away with anything and everything. He’d be fine. They wouldn’t think he was some kind of proto-supervillain.

In the mean time, he was clearly expected to stay with pop, and stay out of the way.  Great.

  
* * *


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Signe uses "xe" as a personal pronoun. It's a gender-neutral pronoun, since Signe does not personally identify with a gender. which you can learn more about this here: http://homepage.ntlworld.com/jonathan.deboynepollard/FGA/sex-neutral-pronouns.html 
> 
> \- Copy edited by the lovely printed_soot.

         Phil sat on the couch, arms crossed over his chest, not wanting to look anyone in the eye. His leg wouldn’t stop bouncing. He felt like an inmate one month from finishing a 17-year sentence. Anything that was likely to get in the way of his getting out made it feel like there were electrical currents running through him, preventing him from sitting still.

                 Mom looked sympathetic but unnerved. Which sucked, because that meant she actually seemed to have a problem with what was going on, or what she _assumed_ was going on. Dad was trying way too hard to look unconcerned, and that was pretty much never a good sign. Phil ran his hands through his hair again but then realized he probably looked guilty right now, instead of just nervous. He straightened up his back, and looked them both in the eye, making every effort to stop fidgeting with like, at least 80% success. At least for a couple seconds.

 

                 Dad and mom exchanged glances, a silent rock-paper-scissors playing out to determine who would have to talk first. Dad lost.

                 He hesitated a second, then "Look, it's not like anyone in this tower thinks you’re turning into a supervillian.”

                 Mom groaned and covered her face with her hands.

 

                 “Well, that’s what he’s worried about!” Dad threw up his hands and leaned back on the couch again.

 

                 “This whole thing is stupid!” Phil objected, standing up.

 

                 His mom reached for his arm, holding it lightly “Honey, sit down, we’re going to figure this out. It’s fine. It’s going to be fine.” Phil reluctantly dropped back onto the couch, glaring at a throw pillow. “Now just...tell me about the paper, ok? Since when are you researching nanites altering human brain tissue?”

 

                 Tony cut in “And why were you doing it under the radar? I assumed that the internet searches with Jarvis’s watch disabled were for _porn_ not superscience.”

         Phil turned beet red. He could feel it. “ _Dad!_ Jesus!” Tony had a talent for making an awful situation worse.

 

                 That got mom’s attention onto dad “What searches with Jarvis’s watch turned off?”  

 

                 Dad gestured at Phil, looking completely unfazed “He’s a 17 year old male, Pepper. I’d be more worried if he _wasn’t_ doing under-the-radar internet searches. And frankly, I didn’t want to know what he was looking at.”

 

                 “So you knew about this.” mom summarized accusingly.

 

                 “I tried to know as little as possible about it.” Tony retorted, spreading his arms out along the back of the couch, and leaning back, “Anyways, most of it probably _was_ porn. So calm down.”

 

                 This was one excellent example of why Phil needed to get out of here. He stared at his father. “What is _wrong_ with you?” Phil should be used to Tony’s tactlessness by now, he really should. Somehow, he wasn’t immune yet.

 

                 Dad wasn’t interested in Phil’s incredulity “What? My tower, my AI, my internet connection. I know what’s going on.” Mom stared “I don’t _pry”_  He assured. He glanced at Phil “Well, maybe I should” Phil just glared harder.

 

                 “It’s. A birthday. Present.” Phil bit out. Not that anybody was actually asking _him_ what was going on.

 

                 Mom’s attention was back on him and the issue at hand “Ok, please explain that then. Because I don’t understand.”

 

                 He felt the words coming out in a rush, and knew that sounded bad, but he needed to get this out before anyone else interrupted.  "Ok, it probably wasn’t going to be one hundred percent ready for your birthday, but I was gonna show you the prototypes I’ve got."

 

        Dad’s eyebrows wandered up towards his hairline.          "You have prototypes?" He had that carefully controlled tone to his voice, slightly higher than it ought to be.

 

                 "Yeah, a couple." Phil managed.

 

                 "And, where do you have prototype brain-altering nanites?" Tony continued

 

                 What kind of stupid question was that? "In my workstation. I haven’t even been hiding that I was working on something from you. Just from mom. So it would be a surprise." Tony was paying even less attention to Phil than he’d realized.

 

                 Mom still sounded worried. Confused "I still don’t understand how brain altering nanites is a birthday present." Phil hesitated. This, if anything, would be the part people would get the wrong idea about. "Well..." he ran a hand thoroughly his hair again "They’re...for you."

 

                 "Just... to show me? Like...a handmade gift?" mom asked cautiously. Too cautiously. What the hell did she think of him, anyways? There was _no trust_ in this tower. Not even from his own mother. This was why everything sucked here.

                 “Nanites are not a good substitute for macaroni art.” Tony stated flatly.

 

                 Phil ignored him. "To...help you." Phil admitted. He registered their immediate alarm at the thought of Phil using experimental nanites on his mom. Ok, that did sound pretty supervillain-ish "With your allergies! The strawberry one! Because...you know...it’s...you know...dangerous. But not until they’re fully tested! It was going to be my thesis, in school. With ethics committees and professors and testing, to make sure it’s safe. I know what I’m doing." He finished, with more than a hint of bitterness. All this trouble over a damn essay. A _good_ essay, too.

                 There was a moment of ambivalence, but then both of them relaxed a little. Mom spoke first, her hand going up to the collar of her shirt. "Oh, sweetie, that's...that's very sweet of you."

                 “Yes. Very Sweet” Tony agreed “Just, y’know, a little…problematic in terms of getting the wrong kind of attention. And, you know… the kind of tech that can come back to bite you in the ass.” Phil tensed again “But, yeah, ok, sweet.” Tony relented some. “Good intention.”

 

                 His mom added “So just…lets put away the nanites till you go to school, ok? I think that would make everyone feel better about the situation." She got up off of the ottoman to sit between Phil and Tony. She pulled Phil into a hug, then leaned back to look at him. "It’s very sweet. Thank you." Phil managed a weak smile. Ok, at least she was willing to listen eventually.

                 Tony moved to sit up “I’ll talk to Rhodey, see about clearing up your rep.”

                 “Is this going to keep schools from accepting me?” Phil asked anxiously. He knew that that was not where his parents were focused right now, and his mom gave him a look that told him that she didn’t think _he_ should be focusing on that right now, with military officers knocking on their door wanting to investigate his mental health. But it was just Rhodey

                 Dad at least seemed a little sympathetic to this concern. “We’ll work it out” he assured, and patted Phil on the knee. Phil hoped that was true. He really needed that to be true. He couldn’t stay here, not the way things were going.

 

* * *

                 Steve turned away from the ice wall. He’d been chiseling at it, and they had a couple heaters trained on the ice to speed things up. He could have smashed it, but between the damage that would do to the wall and the amount of sharp and heavy ice crashing down that would create he was happier to do this the slow way. Besides, it gave him some time with Jamie, doing something Jamie could help with.

 

                 But Jamie sat on the floor, a couple of feet from the ice wall, curled with his knees to his chest, watching the carpet get wet. It was getting hot in the hall, and Steve was down to his undershirt, but Jamie was sweating in his flannel over shirt, self-conscious as always.  Steve turned back to his task again, trying to think of something to say.

                 He felt torn between wanting to take advantage of this opportunity to spend time with his son, and the need to deal with the fact that Jamie had been spying on important meetings. It was further complicated by the fact that none of the other kids looked real likely to be getting that particular talk in the near future. Jamie started picking at a chip of ice that had landed on the floor in front of him. He was…well, sulking.

 

                 Steve didn’t like to see Jamie sulk. It was giving up without letting go, and Jamie did it too often.

 

                 But then again, when Jamie took action, it resulted in him spying on meetings.

 

                 "Ok, Jamie" Steve tried to keep his voice as easy as possible. Lecturing was not going to help him here. "Why don’t you explain it to me." He kept his eyes on the ice and chisel in front of him.

 

                 "Explain what." Jamie didn’t look up from his ice chip.

                 Steve didn’t give an aggravated sigh of frustration.  He kept his shoulders relaxed. He’d gotten used to avoiding arguments, and he didn’t want to fight with Jamie. He needed to focus on understanding the problem. He kept his eye on the chisel but kept Jamie on the edge of his vision "About why you thought you needed to spy on us."

 

                 Jamie’s brow furrowed, but he didn’t look up. He continued to pick away at the ice chip, as more joined it on the floor. "Because you were talking about us."

 

                 "Parents talk about their kids. We need to stay coordinated."

 

                 "You were talking to Rhodey about us. Not just each other."

 

                 "And you know why that is."

 

                 "Do you really expect us _not_ to try to find out why someone from the government wants to talk to you about us?" Jamie’s voice was getting tight, and his weight had shifted, ready to bounce up and walk away.

 

                 "I expect you" Steve said, finally turning around "to trust us to tell you what it was about, and to make sure that you’re all safe. From whatever problems turn up." This seemed to just upset Jamie even more. He sat on the floor, staring fixedly, fuming silently and tense all over. The next thing he said was a mistake, but he realized it too late. “You used to be ok with that.”

                 Jamie snapped at him, still staring fixedly at the floor. “I _used to be_ ten. I’m not anymore. I’m fifteen. And even if I can’t fight and I’m not a genius and I’m a skinny, not-super-anything runt I can at least handle _knowing things._ I’m not so stupid or so weak that I can’t even know what’s going on around me. Especially when it might have something to do with me. Or with the others. Most of the time that’s the only thing I _can_ _do_ but nobody wants to let me. They won’t even let Phil, and he’s smarter and older than me. And it’s stupid because we’ve all been kidnapped and shot at and all sorts of things but you all don’t even think we can be invited to meetings that are about us with someone we already know.”

                 Jamie gestured broadly, still avoiding looking Steve in the eye. This was the longest Steve had heard him talk in over a year. “I mean, how pathetic do you think I am? Just because I’m not like you doesn’t mean I can’t be told anything. I probably can’t do hardly anything about it but maybe I can at least do a little if I know what’s going on!”

                 Now he finally looked at Steve, angry and accusing “I wasn’t trying to be sneaky. I _wanted_ you all to know we’d been watching. Because we’re sick of everybody lying and hiding things from us and from each other. You’re not even _good_ at it. Look at what happened with Signe and Alma just now. And it was _me_ that organized it, not Phil. Phil can’t organize his way out of a paper bag. He would have had Alma climbing up the side of the building! But you assumed it was Phil because he’s the genius or whatever and because you don’t think I can do anything. But just because I’m nothing like you don’t mean I’m helpless. Mom’s not a super anything and she does just fine! She’s saved Tony _twice._ ”

                 Steve’s mind was racing. There was too much to respond to, here. He tried to triage the issues. “I…Jamie, I don’t think you’re pathetic or helpless.”

                 Jamie moved to stand up “Yes you _do._ You think I have to be protected from _everything_.”

                 Steve reached and put a hand on Jamie’s arm, trying to stall him from bolting. This was another mistake because even holding Jamie’s arm lightly effectively locked in in place. Jamie looked up, glaring furiously, then snapped his head to the side, refusing to look at Steve, mouth shut tight.

                 Steve tried to think. Sometimes Jamie was far, far _too_ much like him. Steve had always been willing to die for even the chance to accomplish whatever he could. Jamie was feeling like he didn’t have enough to contribute and wasn’t allowed to contribute even what he had…Steve knew that feeling. He understood it.

                 But Steve had cheated his way out of the situation. Let himself be built into something else by other people. He’d never learned to accept his life as a small, sick, weak man.

 _Was_ that how he thought of Jamie? Weak? Well, physically, of course, he was. He’d gotten almost every strike against him that Steve’s original genes could offer. He'd spent the first month and a half of life needing machines to _breathe_ for him.

                 But he’d also just led a intel-gathering operation in a high security building with a team of, ok, exceptional, but basically a team of _kids_ in order to get the information he felt he and the others needed and to make a very bold statement to the adults in his life.

                 He opened his mouth to object, to at least _try_ to explain all this to Jamie, when a loud crack sounded behind him. Steve looked back at the ice wall, just in time to see and hear a much larger crack form along the weakened bottom of the wall. The wall shattered, sending sharp shards of ice everywhere in a miniature avalanche. Steve put out one arm to push Jamie behind him, and away from the shattering ice.

 

                 In a couple of seconds, it was over. Steve smiled, looking behind him, down at Jamie "Looks like we made it out". He stopped, Jamie was staring down at the floor, shoulders tense. Humiliated to be saved, yet again, this time from a simple sheet of ice. _Damn_.

 

                 "I’ll go get a shovel from downstairs." Jamie managed with a voice thick with quiet rage and hummiliation. He ducked under Steve’s still partially outstretched arm, and headed down the hall at a swift, stiff-legged stride. Steve ran a hand over his face, just watching him go, no idea what he could say that would be more convincing than Steve's unthinking act of protection.

 

* * *

 

                 Signe paced the floor of the living room xe shared with xyr father. That ass. That _moron_. Sometimes, just occasionally, xe could see xyr birth-father’s point about him, so often recorded at a shout or a sneer in the records of the Avengers foes. Xyr father could be such an overwhelming idiot. How could anyone have thought _he_ could rule even one of the nine realms? Well, trust Odin to make a mistake like that, he was clearly just as stupid as xyr father. And just as hypocritical. How could someone who made such a fuss about loyalty and duty and protecting your own be so damned comfortable lying to their own child? For all these years? And how could he lie like that to the rest of the team? He had fought and bled and nearly died with those men and women more times than anyone could count. How could he sit and lie to them, every day of the past seventeen years? Phil might be right about this family being in an uncontrolled downward spiral.

 

                 Did he really think they would reject xyr because of it? That Captain Rogers and Clint and Natasha...and especially Ms. Potts...who was practically xyr mother, wasn’t she? Would reject xyr because of xyr birth? Or...because of xyr species? Did he think they cared for xyr so little? Would it be so easy for them to see xyr as an enemy?  Xe wondered, for the thousandth time, if that was what xyr birth mother had done. His deceit was clearly, if poorly, designed to make xyr seem less the child of Loki. Make xyr seem less like what xe was. Make xyr seem less dangerous than they both knew xe was.

                 Xe had long suspected that he had also never told them that xe had already taken a life, for all that the life xe had taken had been with full justification. He had praised xyr for it at the time, killing the kidnapper who had threatened xyr brother with torture. But his praise was private, and his silence and obfuscation of the icy corpse told another story. He was desperate to deny xyr nature, xyr origin. Xyr abilities.

 

                 Xe looked at the open patio door, clearly the means by which xyr father would be coming back shortly. Hypocritical idiot. Xe didn’t want to talk to him.

 

                 Xe marched over and slammed the patio door shut. At least this way xe would have some warning when he was coming. Whenever he got his cowardly head together enough to come after xyr. Mjoilner was sitting on the kitchen counter, ready to be summoned out the door. Xe hesitated. On the one hand, xe didn’t want to see him, and so should go to xyr room. On the other hand, xe wanted to yell at him and tell him what a cowardly, hypocritical moron he was.

 

                 Going to xyr room would be temporarily avoiding an inevitable conflict. What was the point in that? Xe dropped onto the couch, arms folded. There was no reason to leave the patio door closed now, xe could clearly see from here when Mjoilner left, without the sound of shattering glass to prompt xyr, but the thought of the broken glass was appealing right now. If father didn’t like that his door was now broken, well, then he should have waited for the ice to thaw and respected xyr clear desire to be left alone. _Xe_ wouldn’t mind the cold coming in.

 

                 Xe caught sight of xyr hands out of the corner of xyr eye, furiously gripping at the couch arm through a hoodie xe often carried to pretend xe was ever uncomfrtable with cold. Xyr hands were blue at the tips, but the rest of xyr hands remained their more usual pale pinkish tan.

 

                 Suddenly, the sight of xyr hands so close to the color of xyr fathers hands, colluding with him in his lies, infuriated xyr, and xe opened the internal door xe’d learned to keep sealed shut most of the time. The blue coloring flooded over xyr skin instantly and brought the red color to xyr eyes. The fabric in xyr grip froze, crackled, then cracked. Xyr father had always flustered at the sight of xyr like this.

 

                 No. Father hadn’t kept this secret for the sake of the others, nor for xyr sake. He had kept it because to acknowledge xyr true birth would be to have to face xyr like this. To face xyr the way he had never really had to face his brother. Proof and reminder of Odin’s lies and the reason his once loved brother was now locked away into some prison he had never once been willing to describe to xyr. He would have to see xyr for what xe actually was. To him- this was a frost giant. An ancient enemy and a monster. A creature unlike either his own beloved humans or familiar Asgardians. Like his brother who betrayed him.

 

                 Not his daughter at all. Not even his species.

 

                 Xe grabbed the lamp on the side table, and hurled it at the wall, coming to xyr feet. Half a second later, Xe heard the shattering of the patio door.

 

                 Let him come. Let him come and face xyr. Xe would see for xirself if he could be a father to xyr as xe really was, not just as he wished xyr to be.

 

* * *

 

                 Clint stood outside the door to his apartment, hesitating. Natasha stood a few feet away, arms crossed, pose loose as opposed to Clint’s tension.

 

                 "You’re pretty much screwed here, you know that, right?" she asked.

                 "Nat, you are not helping." He said, still staring at his door.

                 "I’m just saying, she is gonna tear you up." She leaned against the door.

                 "Alma’s a good kid"

                 "She is, and that’s exactly why your screwed. Maybe if she was an unlikable brat you’d have a chance, but as it stands, you are completely screwed.”

                 "Nat, do me a favor and just go home, ok? I’ll deal with this."

                 Natasha pushed off the wall smoothly, and sauntered away with a dissaproving glance and no further comment.

                 Clint steeled himself. Nat was always like that. She’d told Clint at the start that he couldn’t do this, and muttered her objections to him as the others had started their families, years earlier. Because Nat was protective, but not parental. She’d build a family, if she could, from what was around her, but she had objections to indoctrinating anyone else into the type of insanity that came with this type of life.

Clint was pretty sure she’d tried to talk Pepper out of having Phil when Pepper found herself unexpectedly pregnant after marrying Tony. He knew for a fact she’d tried to talk Pepper out of her second, and even less expected pregnancy 3 years later after a post-divorce-finalization fling with Rogers. Publicly Nat had only rolled her eyes when Thor showed up with a 15 lbs newborn, declaring his intention to raise it on Earth, but she’d made her opinion clear to Clint. She’d done her damndest to talk Bruce out of keeping Alma when he’d shown up with her after disappearing for a few months. That might have even worked, except Bruce already agreed completely he wasn’t a fit parent so her arguments rolled off him. Clint had stepped up then, told her to back down because yeah Bruce was a dodgy as fuck father, but Alma just didn’t have any other real good options open to her at the time. And she was already attached to Bruce, and shouldn’t have to lose him right after losing her first parents.

                 And Clint had just fallen in love with the kid. She was everything he’d wished he could be when he was in her shoes. She was wary, and watchful, but she could trust when someone had earned it, could charm with a smile. She could grieve her parents and love Bruce. She could cope with things that should have broken her. He admired the hell out of her. So, just like Pepper and Tony and Steve and Thor and Bruce, he’d ignored Nat’s warnings and objections. He’d let himself be pulled into a system he was more accountable to than he’d ever been to SHEILD, or the circus, or even the team.

                 But that didn’t mean Nat had been wrong. Because for all that Clint was clearly the most normal of the Avengers he knew jack and shit about parenting. What he did know about it was that he wasn’t qualified. Wasn’t qualified and didn’t have any solid claim to it. To Alma.

                 He opened the door. There she was, curled up on the well-worn plaid couch, wrapped in a throw blanket, with only one lamp on. She was laying on her side, watching the blank TV, and sniffling. She looked over at him as he entered. He shut the door behind him, and leaned against it for just a moment before crossing the room to sit at the other end of the couch. She curled her feet out of his way to make room for him. Why did she have to still be nice to him? Nat was right, this would have been easier if she was a brat.

                 She was watching him, sniffling. He didn’t keep kleenex around the house.

                 "Alma..." He still wasn’t sure what to say. She noticed, and looked back down at the couch, trying to keep her face from crumpling.  He reached a hand out. “It’s…no, don’t. Ugh.”

She turned her face against the pillow, and it nearly muffled her voice. “I don’t wanna go.”

         His chest went tight. He’d lived his whole childhood hiding. First from his dad. But mostly, from social workers who might take issue with a couple of unattended kids living with a circus. Or people who might have called said social workers. So basically, decent people. His life there had a lot of problems, but it was familiar, the people were familiar. He understood not wanting to give up something broken if it was all you had.

         Now he’d spent the past 6 years trying to hide Alma from those same people he’d hidden from- the people whose job it was to recognize him for the mess of a father he was. People who would object more loudly than Pepper did about the weapons training, the surveillance training,  the climbing- the things Clint _needed_ to do to keep her safe. The things suburbanites with social work degrees wouldn’t understand.

         What comfort could he offer here? “Look, it’ll be ok. I’ve kept you this long, right?” She sniffled into the pillow again, but nodded. “And I’ve always kept you safe, right? Me and the team. We’ve always kept you safe.” She nodded again, turning her head just enough to peek at him from around the pilling fabric. “Look, worse come to worse, we’d leave together.” He laid a hand gently on her leg, and bent, trying to hold her eyes with his own. But these words didn’t seem to do the trick, she only looked more alarmed. He hurried to try and keep her from freaking out. “Hey, c’mon, that’s not so bad. We’d still stay in contact with the others. They wouldn’t rat us out.” Not helping. Shit. Her eyes were getting shiny. “Maybe we could go find Bruce.” He added hastily.

         And crap, he did not want to go find Bruce.  Bruce was supposed to be the one with the anger issue. And Clint should have been able to understand Bruce’s midnight disappearing act. That he’d done it to protect Alma and the rest of them.

         But if he saw Bruce, he gave himself 70/40 odds of decking the guy.

         It at least had the desired immediate effect. Alma pushed herself up on her arms, almost sitting up. It hurt- it hurt how much she still loved Bruce. He’d never ask her if she’d rather go back to him than to stay with Clint- he’d never put that on her. But he would wonder if she would still want to see Clint if he disappeared in the middle of the night leaving only a goodbye video and making no arrangements for her. If six years after, she’d still want to find him.

         Alma was watching him closely. “Would we have to leave forever?”

         Clint had to do some hasty thinking. He used to have plans for how to disappear from here if he ever needed to. He’d amended those plans to include Alma once he had her. But he’d never had to consider telling Alma about them before. “Probably not. Just for a while…just till the heat died down some.” And if they came back, it wouldn’t be to stay. But he didn’t say so to her. He wouldn’t unless it happened. He didn’t want to scare her.

         “And we could go get Bruce?”

         “Sure.”

         She sat up the rest of the way "Promise?"

         Clint sighed "Promise." Fine. If that’s what it took. He’d just pray to whoever might be listening she didn’t throw him over for Bruce once they did find him. And that Bruce would try to deserve her if she did.        

         "Promise on your bow?"        

         “Yeah, I promise on my bow."

         She scootched over on the couch, and leaned against Clint. He put an arm around her, and patted her back. They stayed that way for several moments. Clint breathed a sigh of relief to have been forgiven again.

         "Clint?" Alma piped up, without moving an inch.         

         "Yeah?"

         "Am I a citizen? A US citizen?"        

         He let out a long, deep breath. "No, kiddo. I’m sorry"        

         "Am I really adopted?"        

         Clint was tensing again "No. Sorry." Pepper and Tony had offered to help him get legal guardianship when he’d taken over for Bruce, but he’d waved them off, saying he’d handle it. Just that by “handle it” he meant “make sure it’d never become an issue, and set Steve up as her godfather”. Except now maybe it would be an issue.

         She tucked the top of her head under his chin. “Clint?”

         “Yeah?”

         “I still don’t want to go.”

         That would have been reassuring, at least in regards to her preferring Bruce over him. Or if he’d thought he could enforce it for her without exposing her to governmental busybodies who could use her lack of national status and lack of legal guardian as excuses to make her go away, remove her as a threat, or as a bargaining chip against the team. All he could think to say was “I know.”

 

* * *

 

                 Thor came to rest on the glass-strewn patio. Well, that was a bad sign, but certainly not a shock. Looking up through the now glassless door, he saw something considerably more concerning. Signe, blue skinned, red eyed, standing on the opposite side of the living room with her feet braced apart and her whole posture blazing with even more fury than when she had stormed off. Another inherited trait of hers- her anger grew as she had time to consider her situation, instead of diminishing.

                 Still, he was grateful to see her, standing there full of righteous fury. She was facing him squarely- no tricks, no deceit, just pride and fierceness. He stood there a few more moments, not sure why he was hesitating. It was unlike him. He did not want to fight her. But she was a grown woman now, and too old to forget things simply because she was told to.

                 Which meant he had to make her accept and understand his reasons. He didn’t want to think about how that prospect made a solid knot in his stomach every time the thought occurred to him. If he failed, would she be doomed to play out the same fate at Loki?

                 Even if she didn’t take her rage out on those who did not deserve it, would she count Thor among that number? Would she, too, be blinded by her rage and refuse to understand the motives of those seeking what was best for her? Signe was a warrior- every bit the warrior Thor could have hoped she would be. If she did not forgive him, could she settle for anything less than battle? The knot in his stomach turned to ice at the prospect, as much as if she had placed the ice there herself. If that was her choice, what could he do? Insult her further by refusing to meet her on her chosen terms? Fight her? No, he couldn’t do that. Nor ask the others to fight in his stead.

                 Worse yet, perhaps she would take the most vengeful path, and simply leave. There was nothing to force her to stay if she wished to go. Especially on Midgard, there was little to threaten her. She could, if she chose, never speak to him again. He didn’t know what he would do then.

                 Why did she have to jump to the wrong conclusions? Why couldn’t she trust that he made the decisions he did in her best interests? What reason did she ever have to distrust him?

                 Why was he still standing on the patio?

                 He strode into the room, and was once again confronted with her appearance. Somehow it was worse up close. Up close, she looked more like herself, which made the unwelcome changes in her coloration all the more jarring. First things first, that needed to stop.

                 "Signe." He stopped short of calling her by her full name. He didn’t want to hear her try to correct it "Stop that at once. There is no call for that. You are taunting me without cause."

                 Signe had a gift for shouting while sounding cold and dispassionate that Thor had never much cared for. "You criticize my face, my very nature, and say _I_ have no cause?"

                 "You are deliberately trying to make me angry!" Thor bellowed. He wanted to turn away, to look anywhere else, but when he angled himself even slightly askew she moved herself directly in front of him again.

                 "Yes!" She shouted back. "Yes! Being angry is the least of what I intend for you! You should save your complaints until I give you cause!"

                 "Until you give me cause? You leap directly to threats!"

                 "As swiftly as you leap to deceit!" She shot back. Thankfully, the coldness had left her voice, if not the room or her skin. Her anger was white-hot now, and much easier to cope with than the distance of that colder tone.

                 "It was necessary." He managed to not, quite, shout.

                 "More lies." She bit out "More lies to cover your cowardice and disdain."

                 Thor was, in that moment, desperately glad of the past 20 years. Twenty years ago, he could not have tolerated these insults without a shouting match that would be heard all the way up in Tony’s apartment. He tightened his fists, looked away from her, and tried not to focus on the insults his own daughter was leveling at him. He had to make her understand. He had to focus on what was important.

                 He tried very hard to keep his voice level, and was rewarded with only slight aggression in the resulting tone "You know that what you are saying is untrue. I will explain it to you, but first you must stop trying to fight me."

                 Since he was staring at the corner of the room, and not looking at Signe and her upsetting blueness, he was not as prepared as he might have been when the side table crashed into his chest. It was cheap, and, like most furniture on Midgard, easily broken. It shattered against his shoulder, sending yet more irritating splinters into the carpet. "Signe!" he objected. He turned to face her, and felt his insides freeze yet again at the tears streaking down her furious, and still blue, face.

                 Damn. Damn. Damn. He wanted desperately not to fight her now. To be the loving father, and not her opponent. But she did not look ready to stop the fight.

                 "You will EXPLAIN it to me? _Explain_ it to me?! You- You are an _idiot_ and a _coward_ and a _liar_ who can not even work up the courage to look me in the face! There is nothing _for_ you to _explain_ to me! I have worked it all out very well without you."

                 "You have not! If you had, you would not be throwing furniture." He took a step towards her, and was startled when she retreated one step backwards. He was afraid, for one moment, that he was actually frightening her when he was trying to make peace- until he saw that that had put her in range of gripping a floor lamp in one hand. She swung it at his head, and without thinking, he raised up his hand still holding Mjoilner to block it. The hammer, being struck by an apparently still plugged in electrical object, immediately shattered the lamp and it’s bulb, sending up a shower of sparks, with the lamps stem continuing to rain sparks out of it’s broken end.

        Signe was undeterred.”This seems to be the only thing to make you _look_ at me when you are speaking to me! You hypocritical, stupid- _SHIT_ " The last word was said with a sudden squeak to it, as Signe and Thor both registered the fact that parts of the carpet, couch, and the shade of the previously broken lamp, had all caught on fire. Thor stamped on a few of the ones on the carpet, just as the fire alarm started to screech and Signe began swearing at the couch.

                 Jarvis’s voice broke over the sound of the alarm "I am sorry to interrupt, but will you be requiring the sprinkler system?"

                 Thor was about to reply when a cold rush at his back caught his attention. He turned back to Signe, and the suddenly frosted carpet, lamp, and couch. She gave a yank on the broken lamp stand to pull its plug the rest of the way out. He relaxed. "Thank you Jarvis, but no. It’s under control." The fire alarm turned off.

                 Thor sighed. Signe was looking down at the broken lamp. They both knew that tiny tube of brass would never have been able to harm him (although fire was at least slightly more problematic, especially when made with obscure chemicals from the carpet). There was no point in making a fuss over the lamp. Or the side table. Or the couch. Or that other lamp he hadn’t noticed. He collapsed onto the frosty couch. The fight was over, and his energy drained out of him. Signe stood, continuing to fidget with the broken lamp, tears now frozen on her face. She looked...ashamed.

                 It was much easier to keep his voice calm now. "I have no disdain for you. You are my daughter, and I am proud of you."

                 "You can hardly look at me,” She retorted. The fight was gone from her voice, but bitterness remained. He forced himself to look over at her. Had Loki ever looked thus? Ashamed and bitter and coated in the proof of his own abandonment? Thor had never seen it, but the familiar knot in his stomach supposed that he must have, at some point, while he hid himself from his true family. He swallowed.

                 "That...is true. I will not try to deny it. But it is not for the reasons you imagine." He kept his gaze steady on her. Her eyes narrowed with scrutiny before she looked away. "Will you let me tell you?"

                 "Fine." Terse, but accepting. She didn’t move, but at least that meant she wasn’t trying to leave. Or light anything on fire.

                 Thor paused again. Where to begin? He had rehearsed this awful conversation so many times, but never like this. He had planned so carefully how to tell her gently, and how to make things clear to her. But he had never pictured her looking like this when he tried to do it. He hadn’t given her intelligence enough credit. Thor knew that he was no match for wits with Loki, at least when Loki was in his right mind. He shouldn’t be surprised if Signe was equally brilliant.

                 Fine. Then give up trying to stay ahead of her. She was a grown woman, time to give her honesty.

                 "At the start, I concealed the truth because I _was_ concerned how the others would treat you. Then, the memory of the conflict was much fresher in everyone’s minds. Not all the buildings had even been rebuilt yet."

                 "But you had to have known before now that they had figure it out." She countered flatly.

                 "I suppose I must have. But they are my friends, and were kind to me and did not make me think of it." He leaned his head back on the couch. He would have to thank them and apologize about this, later. It was overdue, anyways.

                 "You see! You don’t even want to think of it! You can not even stand to _think_ of my origin!" The emotion in her voice was raised again, but still, there was more of plaintiveness and despair than fury.

                 "Again, I confess." He agreed, without moving.

                 Her head was turned squarely away from him now. "If having a child of half frost giant birth is such a burden to you, then you shouldn’t have taken up the task."

                 His head snapped up "That is not it at all!"

                 "Of course it is. You hate those of my abilities. You hate to see me like this, and you deny my birth at every opportunity, even to everyone you care for, and you conceal what I have done with my power.” Her posture shifted, she looked ready to march out of the room.

                 He grabbed for her wrist. She didn’t try to grab it away. He spoke quickly, before she changed her mind "I bear no further hate for Jotenheim or it’s people."

                 "Except Loki" She interjected bitterly. Still, she didn’t move.

                 "No. Even now, I can not hate him." Thor's voice sounded thick, bloated with the emotions he didn’t care to give words of their own. Not yet. "I have sometimes wished that I could. But not often. Except that, if I hated him, perhaps I would feel less guilt at having failed to save him."

                 "His actions were his own." Her voice had challenge in it. Oh, he hated the sound of it in her voice. He knew, raised with the Avengers, that she would grow up hating Loki, as they did, as they had a right to do. Thor had never worked to prevent Signe’s hatred of his brother, never told her about Loki, as Thor had known him, growing up together. After what he had done there was no justifying him to anyone.

       Thor was forced to agree with her. Loki had tried to conquer the Earth three times in total, wreaking havoc and bringing death each time. "They were. And I cannot pretend they were any less senseless and cruel and evil than they clearly were. But I do not hate him. He is still my brother."

                 The challenge in her voice was all but eclipsed by plaintiveness now. "Then why do you flinch away from seeing me like this?" Thank Odin, she was really listening to him now.

                 "Because I failed him. His choices were his own, but my actions were mine. I was not the brother to him that I should have been. And now he suffers for all eternity to pay for crimes I might have prevented if I had loved him better." He let go of her wrist, and looked away, leaning back onto the couch, not really seeing anything in front of him.

                 "That doesn’t explain it."

                 "If I had not failed him, not done my piece to drive him to the madness that ruined lives, you would have been his daughter, not mine. When I see you looking as he did, before he fell into his own lust for vengeance, I remember that I have stolen you, from the man I failed to save. From my brother who lives in torment."

                 "You look at me with...guilt?" her voice was smaller now. She was so much more compassionate than Loki had ever been, even at his best. He wondered sometimes why that was, and why he had allowed himself to think of her differently.

                 "All the more so because I am pleased to have stolen you." He leaned forwards, elbows on his knees, head down. That was the worst of it. After all he had done to his brother, he could not bear the thought of granting his brother’s daughter Loki’s name. The thought of her calling him merely "uncle" threatened to break his heart. He did not want to hear her call Loki father. If only Loki’s vengeance had not encompassed worlds, and merely threatened to destroy him, it would have been well earned.

                 Signe paused for a long moment. She sat beside him on the couch, mimicking his posture, "I don’t mind having been stolen.”

                 He smiled wearily, and put a hand on the side of her face. God, she did look like him, even like this. "I truly believe that, if things had gone differently, he would have made a good father for you, if his mind had not been poisoned by his hatred. Perhaps if father had handled things better, or I had done more to help, he would have had the chance to know you. I don’t believe he would have risked so much, knowing that you would be there to return to."

                 She smiled weakly. She looked as though she had more to say, but after a moment, she just patted his hand. She looked as tired as Thor felt. She spoke up finally, "I’m sorry about lighting the living room on fire and breaking our stuff."

                 Thor laughed a little. "Nevermind it." He patted her shoulder. He looked out at the living room. It really was pretty wrecked up. Burnt, soggy, with shattered metal, ceramic, and glass everywhere. It reminded him of the carousing of his youth. A smile spread over his face. Signe had faced this as a warrior and an adult, with greater maturity than he had shown at far greater years than she had. A positive effect of the frenzied pace of Midgardian life, he supposed.

                 "I think,” he said, "That this calls for a human right of passage celebration".

                 "You...want to throw be a Bat Mitzva? That could be awkward."

                 He laughed, feeling suddenly at ease. "No. I think, in this case, I will ignore Steve’s very well intentioned advice. You have shown yourself far more mature than most human 21 year olds anyways." And it would take more Ale than he had in the house to effect her, in all likelihood.

                 Signe’s eyebrows raised as he stood and moved towards the kitchen "Booze? Really?" She seemed bemused.

                 "Why not? Celebration after a mighty battle is perfectly appropriate. And you," he said, pointing a very large beer mug at her "are a very formidable opponent." He placed the mugs on the counter "So, let us drink to our mutual success in this battle." She grinned wearily at him from the couch. With that expression, and with the pressure of concealing this half of her lineage gone, the blue tint was far easier to look at. She no longer seemed to notice it at all, and the defiance was gone from her posture. Thor poured a couple of drinks, and sat down beside her on the couch. Maybe, now, or soon, he would be able to tell her about Loki. And maybe, someone else could understand.

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- With thanks to my pal Emily for copyediting.  
> \- This is the chapter where the shit hits the fan, and some of those tags and warnings start to come into play.

         As soon as Pepper’s feet hit the floor in the morning, Jarvis had an alert for her. “Good morning, Ms. Potts. I’d like to notify you that the Avengers, Sir included, are currently away on a call. Sir mentioned expecting to be back in time for dinner.”

         She brushed the hair out of her face. “Now what is it?” She asked, heading to the bathroom.

         Jarvis’s voice followed her, quietly, to avoid waking up the boys. “There is a disgruntled professor with some form of sonic weaponry capable of damaging circuitry, nervous systems and masonry. They are currently in upstate New York. The threat level was estimated to be relatively low.” Oh, the guy Natasha and Clint had been investigating must have made his move.

         All Pepper felt in response to most missions these days was a weary sort of resignation. Occasionally a real, nail-biting threat would surface, but most of the time the problem was something the Avengers could shut down in, at most, a couple of days. This would be one of the missions where Tony went because of the need for on-the-fly engineering, rather than a need for bring out the full force of the Avengers. Hopefully he’d stay out of combat.

         Pepper was used to this now – risking many of the people she cared about in regular fights.  The work needed doing. The team did it. They wouldn’t be any safer if they ignored these threats. She finished brushing her teeth and got a cup of coffee, looking out over the city skyline. Pepper loved New York. The Malibu house had been beautiful, but she preferred the feeling of being at the heart of activity, and no place beat New York for that. She could forgive a lot of the sleepless nights being connected to the Avengers had caused her, knowing that they were protecting both her family and the city that she loved. Sometimes the _world_ she loved, but, again, not so often.

         She settled onto the couch. At least nobody tried to kidnap her anymore. After 16 years of being divorced from Tony, hardly anyone even seemed to remember she’d been married to him. And it had at least been a while since anyone had tried to kidnap the kids.

         But she wondered how much longer this arrangement could last. Phil would be leaving in a matter of months, further undercutting Tony’s connection to the tower, and to the rest of the family. He’d been pushing everyone else away for ages now.

         For the moment there was also Tony’s membership as an Avenger to ground him and keep him connected, but he was _sixty-three._ At some point even Tony would need to completely retire from fighting. At that point there wouldn’t really be anything holding him back from completely isolating himself from the people who cared about him. She felt sick thinking about what would happen to him then. From Tony’s own descriptions, he was lucky to have survived the period between age 17 and age 21, when he’d last been isolated from obligations and family.

         Technically, Tony couldn’t actually _evict_ the others, even if he did quit the team. The tower belonged equally to both Tony and her. But Tony _could_ move out any time he wanted. He still had a couple of other properties in his name. She tried not to think about what would happen to him if he took that route – ended up living alone, cutting off contact with the people who cared about him. She had her own mixed feelings about living with not one but _two_ of her exes, especially after the kids eventually moved out, but… this was her home. This was her family.

         She heard faint noises from down the hallway, likely Jamie starting to wake up. He was a much earlier riser than Phil, who usually kept his father’s hours as much as Pepper would allow. Quiet, dragging footsteps padded down the hall towards her, and Jamie’s groggy form wandered into view. She smiled at him. "Morning, sweetie." She got a mumbled but friendly response as he came over and dropped himself onto the couch, his still-too-big flannel pajamas pooling out around him.

         This was a favored ritual of Pepper’s and lately, like yesterday, Jamie had been sleeping in later, and so had been missing some of their early morning time together. She hoped it was a sign he was going to grow soon.

         Jamie flopped over on his side, landing gently with his head on Peppers calves, and Jarvis cued up the morning news on channel 5 for him without a word, keeping the volume low. She wished Jamie wasn't so adverse to cameras. He always flinched away from them. But Jamie was so adorable like this, unguarded and relaxed, patiently watching the worlds events with a slightly pensive look on his face. Some days they would discuss world events together, but today Jamie seemed content to stay silent.

         Channel 5 was laying down on the job. They hadn't even mentioned the mission that had called out the team. They were focused on the release of a prominent businessman from prison. Oh God, Justin Hammer? Great, that was what the world needed. Justin Hammer back at work. They even showed a clip of him emerging back into the world at large with a scar by his jaw and the same unpleasant orange tinge he’d had the last time she’d seen him. Trust Justin Hammer to find cheap self-tanner in prison. She rolled her eyes.

         She smiled fondly at Jamie, and tickled the back of his neck with one painted toenail. He curled away with a stifled giggle, and grinned up at her before going back to watching the TV. Sometime today she’d have to talk to him about the spying, but she wasn’t about to spoil their nice quiet morning. It could wait till after work.

         The overhead serurity alarm system suddently blazed into activity, drowning out the tv and startling them both into instant alertness. The siren screeched and red lights flashed. "Jarvis?" Pepper shouted over the alarm, coming to her feet.

         Jarvis responded instantly "There is an incoming attack from a jet flying at roughly the height of the tower apartments. The attack is connected to the conflict the team left earlier this morning to deal with. They are approaching quickly. I recommend immediate use of the subbasement panic room. The employees downstairs have already been alerted for evacuation.”

         Pepper was already shooing Jamie towards the door. "Go. GO. I'll be right behind you. Jarvis, What about Alma and Signe?"

         "They are already alerted and on their way to the emergency elevator."

         "Mom, what about Phil?" Jamie stopped, planting his feet on the marble, looking up at her anxiously.

         "I'm coming!" Phil shouted from down the hall. Pepper relaxed a little, and turned back to her youngest. "Ok, go. _Move_!” Pepper pushed again on Jamie, who turned towards the door with only a little reluctance.

         Jarvis cut in more urgently “The jet is-"

         That was when the wall exploded, knocking Pepper off her feet. The sound of shattering glass and twisting metal and wood tearing apart was nearly drowned out by a booming vibration of a sound Pepper could feel over every inch of her body. Everything shook. Pepper’s heart stopped as she stared back for a moment through the dust, registering where the explosion had come from. Not the bank of windows in the great room. It came from the wall dividing the great room from...from the bedrooms. From the boy’s bedrooms....

         Phil...

         No...

         "Mom!" Jamie shouted, grabbing at her hand, eyes wide. He was terrified, and was staring at the wall of dust and debris obscuring their view of the bedrooms. He pulled on her hand as he struggled back to his feet, trying to tug her towards the door, his eyes still not leaving the wreckage. She shakily but swiftly got back up, but hesitated on which way to go. That awful, thrumming noise kept going. She tried to cut through it, to hear Phil...any sign of Phil. But with the noise and the dust, she could barely even tell where _she_ was.

         Jamie yanked on her hand again, hard, this time knocking her slightly off balance. He pulled again, successfully moving her towards the door. She was sure he was shouting at her, but she couldn't make it out. One small but insistent hand came up to her back, and shoved her towards the door, and without thinking too much, she took a few steps away from the direction of the attack, towards the emergency elevator. A high pitched screech, almost like the towers alarms, now joined the deep sound, sending lancing pain through her head. That was enough to make her close her eyes for a fraction of a second, and the small hand shoved her with much greater force, sending her stumbling towards the door out of her apartment. There was another sound of crumbling and crashing, but she could barely hear it now over the cacophony and the fear and the pain in her head.

         She opened her eyes and saw Jamie’s pained and panicked expression, and she saw the door. on the other side of that door it was the elevator. She gathered herself together a little, and nodded to him. She grabbed the doorknob and pulled it open, one hand on Jamie’s shoulder, him holding onto her elbow, looking over her shoulder at the wreckage. She had to get him through the door, to safety, then get back to Phil.

         Phil... her mind stalled again for a moment. Something tugged on the edge of her awareness. Something…a sound? She couldn’t identify it, but turned around to see...oh thank God. _Tony._ Tony in the suit, coming down from the hole in their ceiling. Jamie flew past her, back into the ruined living room, screaming and pointing.

         "Phil! Phil! GO GET PHILL!!!!" He was gesturing frantically, trying to be understood past the dust and that god-awful noise.

         Tony shot back into the dust cloud, out of sight, towards Phil. Thank God. Oh, Thank God.

         She grabbed Jamie and rushed them both through the door. He tripped a little over his pajamas, but stayed on his feet. She had to trust that Tony, and the others, they must be nearby, would save Phil. Tony had to save Phil. She had to save Jamie, and get to Signe and Alma. They tumbled into the elevator, which plummeted down with stomach-wrenching speed into the deepest sub-basement of the tower. She clung to him, holding his head against her shoulder, trying to breathe past the dust and her own sobs and the sick feeling in her stomach. He was shaking, and clinging to her hand.

         The elevator slowed abruptly, then stopped, doors opening to the cold, bare panic room, where, thank God again, Alma and Signe were already sitting, looking anxious, but unhurt. Their anxiety turned to real fear and shock at the sight on them. Signe rushed towards them, helping them out of the elevator, counting them and coming up one short. Jamie sobbed, slow to get up or respond to Signe's offered hand. 

         Signe’s eyes widened. Alma stood behind her, tears in her large anxious brown eyes. Signe gave an appraising look to one of the other emergency elevators that Pepper read immediately. No. Oh no no no. That was _not_ happening. Pepper grabbed Signe’s elbow. She tried to look at stern as she could "The team is here. Tony is going for Phil. You s _tay here_.” She gripped Signe's elbow tightly, willing her to listen.

         Signe responded with a one sharp nod, giving the elevator one last tense, regretful look, before returning Pepper’s gaze and nodding again. Pepper let go of her elbow. She put her arm around Jamie, who was sobbing very quietly, and sat them both down on the floor. Signe settled in on Jamie’s other side, looking ashen. Alma crawled over and sat in Signe's lap, facing Pepper. Her expression would have seemed almost blank, but her breathing was fast and shallow and her eyes were glazed over, wide and unblinking. Down here, the only sounds that could be heard were Jamie’s gasped sobs and Pepper’s own ragged breath.

         They settled in for the long, hard wait.

* * *

         Phil slowly became aware of the pain in his body. At first it seemed somehow far away, but as he noticed it, it flooded his system. It wasn't unbearable, but it was bad. Really bad. He'd been hurt badly before, but this was up there with the worst he’d had and it was _everywhere_. It occurred to him to wonder _why_ everything hurt.

His heart raced. The last time he'd been this badly hurt there had been Hydra agents involved. He tried to listen for some indication of where he was, but didn't hear anything. He did register an IV in his arm. That was probably a good sign. Wherever he was, someone wanted him alive. And this tilted, hard bed suggested a hospital. It should be safe to open his eyes, and alert whoever might be in the area that he was awake.

         He opened his eyes.

         Yep, that was one blank, featureless ceiling. Hospital was looking like a solid option. But... something was off... he couldn’t put his finger on it. He wondered if it would be safe to move his head and get a better look at what was around him. His neck was hurting, but didn't seem to be braced. He turned his head to the left, and the fear drained out of him. 

         Mom was sitting slumped over and asleep in the chair by what was now definitely a hospital bed. If she was here, and sleeping, he couldn't be in much trouble. He glanced past her. There was another hospital bed in the room, but it was empty. That was also probably a good sign. So what the hell had happened? It was hard to think through the haze of pain and painkillers, and he felt exhausted. He nearly decided to forget about it for now and get back to sleep, before realizing he could just ask mom.

         He tried to ask her what happened. Tried to wake her up. His voice wouldn't work. His throat hurt trying. He tried again. No sound.

         But she stirred. She looked up, saw him, and closed her eyes as a look of relief washed over her. She sat up and… what was she doing? It looked like she was shouting to someone but there wasn't any sound. The anxiety that had drained when he’d realized he was someplace safe earlier crawled back into his chest. He tried again to ask her what was wrong. No sound. Not even a gurgle or a rasp. He tried to sit up, noticing the absence of the sound of the stiff sheets moving. His heart was pounding.

         The IV needle yanked at his arm as he struggled up. Mom stood up, putting a gentle hand on each shoulder. She sat on the edge of the bed and caught his eyes with her own. She didn't try to say anything. He searched her face. She was relived but... sad. She was trying to look reassuring, he could tell, but there were definitely tears in her eyes that weren't from relief.

         Oh. Somehow her silence was the ultimate confirmation of his suspicion. The idea hit him like a blow. This was too much to deal with right now. His sore back spasmed a little, and he allowed himself to collapse backwards into the bed. He stared up at the ceiling. His mind tried to race, to wrap itself around the possibility, but was slowed by the sludge of whatever chemicals were in his system.

         Some doctors came in, moving around the edge of his vision. He felt like probably he should have questions, but he couldn’t seem to grasp any of them at the moment. He could feel that he was breathing hard, and the strain of it hurt his chest. He felt his mom’s hand on his, holding on to it, stroking his palm with a worried thumb. The needle in his arm tugged a bit again as some medical professional or other did something with it. He felt darkness swallow him from the feet up, and he surrendered himself readily.

* * *

         Tony’s pacing around pop’s living room was making Jamie really uncomfortable.

He understood, of course, that Tony couldn’t work in his own apartment because of the same hole in the tower that had Jamie downstairs instead in his usual room. Or... the gaping hole that had been his usual room. But Jamie really, _really_ wished that Tony would stop.

         Tony was striding from one end of the living room to the other, shouting on an old, backup cell phone at various maintenance and construction people. The schematics for the tower security system were still spread out all over pop’s oval shaped antique table. Tony had a tumbler of some dark liquid in his other hand. It was not diet coke, and it was not the first. Jamie glared at that glass. Phil was supposed to wake up soon. What if Phil needed Tony when he woke up? Needed him to think clearly? Jamie already knew from experience that if he wanted to, Tony could get _really_ drunk _really_ fast. He had it down with a chemists precision.

         Jamie sank into the cushions, wishing desperately to be at the hospital where Phil was. Where mom was. He wanted any news to get to him instantly. Not even as long as it took for mom to call them. He knew they said Phil would live. And that his brain damage was limited to the effects of that sound-ray-gun-whatever thing. Which meant Phil would be deaf. He didn’t know how his brother would take that. He didn’t know what Phil would need.

         But he was pretty sure it wasn’t for Tony to be drinking and blowing a gasket. Where was pop? He left to bring a couple things to mom, like daytime clothes, but shouldn’t he be back by now? Jamie peeked over the back of the couch at Tony again. Tony’s eyes were red, his hair was a disaster, he had sweat and a scrape on his face, and he looked more than half crazy. He was gesturing with broad, sharp-edged swings of his arm. His voice was loud and angry and unhinged. “Are you fucking serious? You can’t be bothered to work an off shift for this? We save the world, like 3 dozen times, save your sorry ass, and you can’t stay up past bedtime for a couple weeks?! How about if I go blow a hole in your headquarters, huh? World needs you functioning a lot less than it does me, pal.”  Jamie elected to keep silent.

         The door opened, and pop came through, looking tired. He glanced first to Jamie on the couch, then at Tony, then to the glass in Tony’s hand. His lips tightened and he took a deep breath. Yes. Finally. He walked over near Tony, but without actually getting in his way. 

Pop watched Tony for a couple more minutes, assessing the situation. Then he very carefully strode over where Tony would be sure to see him, and very gently removed the tumbler from Tony’s hand. Tony paused his pacing for a fraction of a second to shoot him a dirty look, but didn't break the stream of threats and orders he was giving his phone. Pop took a few steps backwards, and calmly placed the tumbler on the far side of the kitchen counter, next to the decanter Tony had brought down with him when he’d arrived. He then leaned on the counter and went back to watching Tony. That was pop’s trying-not-to-look-disapproving face. After a couple more minutes of Tony's ranting, it became his disapproving face. If Tony didn't get off the phone soon, it would be his angry face.

         But, it seemed that whatever construction company or maintenance team or whoever it was that Tony was talking to was agreeing to the right-now repairs that Tony was shouting at them about, and he wrapped up the conversation. As he hung up, pop crossed back over to Tony and put his hand on his wrist before Tony had the chance to make the next call. He gave Tony a meaningful look.

         "Can I help you, Rogers?" Jamie was never sure, when Tony used that tone, whether it was trying to be polite and failing, or if the sarcasm was deliberate.

         "Tony..." pops started. His brow knit for a second. He changed tracks. "Has Pepper called yet?"

         "I told you I would call you or she would call you when I heard something. Remember that?" Tony was stalking sideways toward the kitchen while he was talking. Pop followed him. Tony reached for the tumbler, and pop frowned. "Problem, Cap?" he challenged, picking it up.

         "Tony..." pop started again. Pop didn't like Tony's drinking. As far as Jamie could tell, his disapproval had only resulted in Tony drinking alone more.

         Jamie rarely saw Tony intoxicated anymore, but he was pretty sure he'd witnessed a good number of Tony's hangovers, especially since Tony stopped going out on as many missions. The hangovers were sometimes hard to tell apart from the way Tony looked after working an all-nighter, but Tony seemed off-balance somehow when hungover. Less put together than when he had spent a night doing what he was best at.

         Jamie considered going back to "his" room, rather than listen to this argument again. He had overheard this argument before. It wasn't replayed that often, but it had been often enough for Jamie to memorize it's basic patterns. Pop would say or imply that Tony drank too much, Tony would say that it was none of his business. Pop would try to point out how either the team or the family might be effected, and Tony would growl something dismissive about that. Jamie would feel sick to his stomach. Tony would shout about pop being controlling. Pop would get mad, maybe shout a little, and then get quiet and tense. Then Tony would storm out, and the next day pretend like nothing had happened as pop let the matter drop for a while but quietly ground his teeth.

         Jamie sank down further on the couch, making sure he couldn't be seen by either of them. If he went to his room, he might not here when mom called. Usually Phil was here to distract Jamie when these things were going on. Usually they could at least get out of the room.

         "Tony-" pop tried again, his voice soft and sad. "Not right now, ok? Just... not right now." Huh. A variation in the pattern. Jamie peeked over the couch back again to see what Tony would do. Tony's back was to him, so Jamie couldn't see his face. But his shoulders were squared and tight, and he was standing still, hand on the counter, halfway to the tumbler. Pop was looking at him, and by his face it looked like Tony was actually making eye contact. They stood nearly frozen for a couple seconds, Tony’s hands tapping the counter. His foot tapped a couple of times. His back tensed a little further.

         Tony turned away abruptly, bringing up his phone again. "Fine. If it makes you feel better. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some calls to make.” Jamie blinked a couple of times. No yelling. He sat up a little more normally.

         Pop relaxed a little, but still carried that resigned look he had when he had to do something he didn't want to. He ran a hand through his hair. Jamie noticed for the first time how drawn and worried pop looked, apparently not just over Tony's drinking. He realized belatedly that pop must be worried about Phil to.

         Ugh. Every time he thought about Phil, and not about what was in front of him, he felt sick again and his chest got tight. Not that focusing on this train wreck felt a whole lot better. He glanced at Tony. Tony also looked like he felt sick. pop didn't, but then, he never did. It took a direct hit from some kind of crazy death ray to make pop look sick.

         "You can't get the tower put together before he comes back." pop said, not following Tony as he started to pace towards the bank of windows that filled one wall.

         Tony snarked back “Oh, ok, then I'll just leave the big gaping hole in my living room. How’s that?"

         "I don't think you give a damn about your living room." Pop answered evenly. His voice had gotten that measured tone it did when he was approaching something bad.

         "My living room, my problem." Tony's voice shifted and he was addressing someone on the phone "I want the REI Lumber head of shipping. Yes, NOW." Tony's tone shifted to his sugary, vindictive voice "Oh? really." He sauntered over to the old fashioned panel pop had in the wall that doubled as TV and computer. He started pushing buttons. "A board meeting in Florida? Really. That would be the Tampa office, right?" His fingers were flying over the display screen. Pop’s eyes narrowed, he leaned over to glance at what Tony was doing. Whatever he saw seemed to make up his mind about interceding, and he moved over to Tony quickly.

         "Tony," he semi-whispered, trying to get him to look up for a moment. Tony glanced at him, then went back to his tapping "Are you hacking a private business line from my living room?" Tony didn’t acknowledge him.

         Pop hesitated a moment, then grabbed the cell phone out of Tony's hand, and hung up the call. Tony was on a slight delay to react to that, probably from the alcohol, and pop used that fact to get one hand on Tony's shoulder and move him back a step, so that he could put himself between Tony and the screen. He didn't move his hand off Tony's shoulder. Tony looked like he was gearing up for some kind of major reaction, but again, his responses were slow.

         Pop cut him off before he could start "Now cut it out! The tower WILL get fixed and we WILL make it more secure but you can’t threaten people, break the law, or ruin our standing in the community over this. Phil needs you to-“

         Tony shoved pop’s hand off of his shoulder, cutting him off “I’m getting ready for Phil. Or didn't you notice how he doesn't have a room anymore? _I'm_ making sure he's got a home to come back to."

         Pop was trying to be gentle "Tony, he was in an explosion this morning, and hit with that disruption gun. It's gonna be a while before he comes home. Getting the tower up and running is important, but you haven’t left the building yet and-“

         "Tonight," Tony answered shortly, turning away, back towards the kitchen. Jamie was startled.

         Pop shocked tone echoed Jamie’s feelings " _Tonight?_ You can't be serious. He was hit just this morning! I know you want him home but-"

         "Not my call. The hospital says they need the room and they can't do much more for him. They're sending him home. Tonight. If those assholes don't want to take care of him, I will." Tony was keeping his voice flat, bordering on flippant, but his whole posture was giving him away. He looked ready to crawl out of his skin. This didn’t make any sense. Jamie hadn’t seen Phil, but… he couldn’t be ready to come home already.

         Pop actually looked as stunned, "But..."

         "So, if you'd stop interfering and let me _get back to work._ I'm sure Phil would appreciate having a room to come back to."

         "You can't get it put back together by tonight. Tony, that's-" Pop stopped, pausing to look Tony over. Tony looked halfway to a complete meltdown, his breathing shallow and his eyes slightly out of focus. "He's got a room here." Pop finished, trying to sound calm.

         And it was true. Both Jamie and Phil had rooms in pop’s unit, just like at home. They even each had a couple outfits in the drawers and closets, which had come in handy this morning. They didn't, however, have rooms in Tony's unit. Even if they had, nobody was staying in Tony's unit until it was repaired. Pops apartment was still intact.

         Tony snapped back with unexpected volume and anger “ _My_ kid. _My_ tower. He _stays with me_!” Tony had taken a step forward, and was jabbing one finger at pop, definitely in his personal space. He looked furious. Pop was still, his eyes locked on Tony, both of them silent and frozen. His slightly heavier breathing gave him away though, and Jamie recognized the look pop got when he was in pain and didn’t want anyone to know it. Jamie wondered if Tony was sober enough to recognize it, too.

         They stood there for a couple of seconds. During that time, Tony's words sunk in. Phil was Tony’s. Tony wanted Phil to stay with him. Ok. That... made sense. So, by that logic, Jamie was pop’s, and should stay with him. He felt his breath catch in his throat and the tightness in his chest squeeze. He wasn't sure why, but this felt like a rip. Like a tear had happened somewhere inside him. Phil would stay with Tony, and Jamie would stay with pop, and mom would stay... somewhere. He didn't know.

         He hadn't ever heard mom or pop or Tony talk like that, divvying them up, making them separate. Highlighting the divide that of course Jamie had always understood was there. He'd felt it before. Every time Phil was thought of as a Stark, and every time Jamie felt left out of that technobabble that Phil and Tony, and sometimes even mom, could spout off with such ease. But nobody had ever talked about it this way before. Not where Jamie could hear it, at least. Another secret?

         He realized that pop was looking over at him, now, his mouth tight. Their eyes met for a second. Tony turned to see what he was looking at, and Jamie’s eyes darted down, not wanting to look Tony in the eye or read his expression. Phil was Tony's son. He knew that. He'd always known that.

         And that... that was fine, wasn't it? He shouldn't act like something had just changed. It hadn't. There wasn’t really any secret here. Tony would take care of Phil. What should be wrong with that? He wrapped an arm around his disobedient, roiling gut, and wondered if he still had an inhaler in pop’s apartment. He sat back down on the couch, hidden from both their lines of sight by its high back. For a moment, nothing happened. He didn't hear them say anything else.

         Then he heard Tony's footsteps, heavy and angry, and Tony came briefly into Jamie’s peripheral vision as he stalked out, slamming the apartment door without looking at anyone, and without a word. Without even his phone. Jamie returned his eyes to the wall in front of him, aware that the wall was getting slightly blurry. Tears, he guessed. Embarrassing, but not new or unusual, under the circumstances. A thousand miserable thoughts tried to press for his attention. He just stared at the wall, refusing to look at any of them.

         A quiet sound to his left barely registered. The couch indented, and pop had just sat down next to him. Jamie didn't look at him. Silence stretched out as Jamie tried hard not to think about anything.

         One thought managed to squeeze itself into his attention, that he was crying in front of his dad. He felt a second traitorous tear make it's way down his face, on the side where pop was sitting. He tried to still his mind again. Please, just let him not break that concentration. He silently prayed for his father not to poke any holes in his delicately constructed stillness.

         "Jamie-" he began, and just like that, it was too late. He just couldn’t leave it alone. Jamie lunged to his feet, startling pop. He made a bee-line to "his" room, vaguely registering pop trying to say something behind him. He wanted to get out of his sight before the thoughts behind the now broken dam hit him. He slammed the door behind him, as a wordless warning to leave him the hell alone.

* * * 

         Alma surveyed the wreckage of Thor and Signe’s living room. Everything was damp, and both of the lamps and one of the side tables were broken. She was pretty sure that this was not from this mornings attack. An already bad day was made worse by the memory of the fights of the night before, and the fight in the most stable house in the tower. Signe hadn’t wrecked anyplace up this bad in ages.

         "Umm, Signe?" She asked nervously.

         Signe, who had been in shades of furious for hours, was distracted from being angry long enough to look embarrassed. She rubbed the back of her neck.  “Mind the broken glass on your feet. I was going to clean it up this morning."

         Alma frowned, still looking at the carpet. Burn marks? How had those happened?  Signe looked at her, the corner of her mouth stretching into something not quite a grimace. “It, ah. It’s pretty well cleared up now. Things aren’t quite what I’d feared. We aren’t fighting now.”

         Alma looked at Signe, who shrugged uncomfortably. She looked sincerely sorry. And Alma knew Signe had a sore spot around her birth father. Maybe this wasn’t so bad, considering?  Her voice still sounded hesitant “Well. Umm. That’s good. All made up, then?”

         Signe nodded. Her expression was getting dark, almost broody. Alma wanted to try and lighten the mood. "At least it looks like your apartment is pretty much ok. I mean, structurally, at least.” Alma said, poking a shard of lamp with her toe. “I guess it was just Tony's and the Potts’ place."

         An idea hit her, a dim light trying to brighten a very dark morning. "Hey, we should go down to the ground floor, and see if we can pick out any of Phil and Jamie’s stuff from the mess. Maybe some of it isn’t broken. Or, not too broken anyways. All their stuff fell. We could get it for them. Help out.”

         It would give Signe something to do – something to focus on. Keep her out of trouble and out of the temptation to start fights.  Signe was not good at patience when there was something she was really worried about. She’d want to fix the problem so bad she sometimes made things worse.

         "Very well" Signe muttered grudgingly. She let herself be led back down the hall to the elevator, but her mind was clearly off on something else, probably on attacking the badguy professor who’d done all this. Which was probably why Signe almost smacked directly into Tony when the elevator door opened.

         "Shit," Tony hissed out, backing up suddenly. He looked up, and registered that the body that had just nearly run him over was just Signe. The alarm drained out of him, replaced with irritation. " _Shit_ , Signe, watch where you’re going."

         Signe’s expression changed dramatically. Tony was suddenly the object Signe’s complete and kind of desperate focus. She grabbed both his arms in great big hands, startling him again, and forcing him up on the balls of his feet. "Tony! What news of Phil!?"

         "Fuck! Let go of me!" He managed, trying to pull his arms away. Something about him seemed... off.

         Signe’s expression didn’t change a bit. Her hands didn’t even wiggle in place. “Have you heard anything?" She demanded again.

         "Signe," Alma whispered "Let him go – you’re freaking him out!” The elevator doors closed behind them and Alma realized she was now sealed in a smallish metal box with two of the worst fight starters in the tower, who were both completely freaked out. _Dangit._

         "Signe-" she tried again at a whisper. She didn’t need to whisper, Tony could obviously hear her, but raising her voice would just upset Signe more.

         Signe didn’t even seem to hear her. Her eyes narrowed and a slow, sneering snarl was spreading across her mouth. Alma felt an exhausted, desperate wave of panic wash over her. She had to get Signe to back off before another fight, another fracture damaged her family. There were far too many piling up all of a sudden, faster than they could heal. She pulled on Signe’s arm, trying and get her to let Tony go before either of them exploded, but Signe didn’t seem to notice. 

         "You," Signe growled, her voice much deeper and more threatening than was normal, even when angry, "have been drinking."

         Alma felt a small whine escape her, and she tugged on Signe’s arm again. Signe didn’t even seem to notice it. And Signe _always_ noticed her. Stupid, strong-headed Signe… she pulled again, harder. Nothing.

         Tony reached out and pushed at Signe’s arm, the same way he did with Captain Rogers sometimes when they fought. It was the usual signal to let go. But Signe wouldn’t let go. She leaned in.

         Tony met her eyes with a glare, his voice was just the tiniest bit slurred. Alma wouldn’t have noticed it on her own, probably, but Signe had a really good nose. "That is so none of your goddamn business. I do not need a lecture from a tantrum throwing kid today. I already got one from-" He cut off mid-sentence, as Signe suddenly shifted forwards. Tony was now back on his feet, but would have to either back up against the wall of the elevator or put up with Signe looming a few inches from his face.

         And of course Tony wouldn’t back up, he was Tony. He leaned forward too, mirroring her posture as well as he could with half a foot height difference between them, and readied some retort, flexing his arms, trying to figure out how to get them free of Signe’s tight grip. Alma didn’t like the way he did it; what it seemed to imply. She’d seen Tony hit Captain Rogers, just once, but _never_ any of the kids. He never even sparred with them. And Signe hadn’t hit any of the adults since she was little. But if Tony hit Signe she _would_ hit him back. An image of Tony, laying dead in the elevator with a huge dent in his body and blood everywhere flashed across her mind. One shot at close range would be all it would take. She pulled desperately at Signe’s arm. This could not happen.

         "Signe," She heard her own voice, high and desperate, "Signe, it doesn’t matter. He won’t be back for weeks and weeks and his mom is with him-" the words rushed out as she pulled at Signe’s arm with her whole weight. Signe’s head tilted towards Alma slightly, then the rest of the way and she turned to face Alma. "Signe, don’t hurt him-" The image of Tony, murdered by her big sister flashed in front of her eyes again and stung them with tears.

         She was not the least little bit afraid to cry here- anything to distract Signe from overreacting. Signe’s expression flickered, and this time, when Tony shoved at her arms, she let him go, eye’s not leaving Alma. Almas eyes flicked to Tony for a second. He was a little drunk, but also very pale. He was tired and scared and still angry.

         The elevator doors opened with a rush of fresher air and brighter light. Alma saw Clint and Natasha out of the corner of her eyes. Her knees almost went out from under her out of relief. She closed her eyes. Nothing really bad would happen now.

         Clint broke the half-a-heartbeat of tense silence, "Alma, I was just coming looking for you." His eyes were on Signe and Tony. He put out one hand as a signal to get off the elevator. Alma obeyed readily, rushing off the elevator and behind Clint.

         Natasha put one hand over the door to the elevator as it tried to slide shut, stopping it. She watched Tony and Signe with an undisguised assessing stare. She made some kind of decision. Her eyes settled on Tony, and lost the outward appearance of a hunter. "Hear anything about Phil yet?" She asked. Signe had relaxed a half a step away from Tony, but her body was still tensed, her eyes locked on Tony again, just as hungry for the answer as before.

         Alma wrapped one arm around Clint's arm. He'd called earlier to say he was escorting the somehow not-dead badguy to other authorities, and he’d told her that he was ok, but with todays mess it was nice to see him in person.

         Alma looked back at Tony. He did not look good. She gave a silent prayer that Tony wouldn’t hold this outburst against Signe or Thor. Tony straightened, trying to look more normal. He smoothed down the front of his shirt. His voice was clipped in that way when he wanted to get the words out as briefly as possible. "He’s coming home tonight. Late evening. He’s deaf. But alive."

         A cold silence fell over the small group. Deaf? Like, permanently deaf? Tony’s lack of details suggested that, but maybe he didn’t know yet. Nobody asked.

         Clint was the first to come up with something. "Right. I’ll take the roof tonight. Keep an eye on things. We can keep up surveillance till you have a chance to put things back together." And that seemed to be the right thing to say. For the first time that day, Alma saw Tony relax slightly. Clint was the best. Clint was _always_ the best. Alma felt herself relax to. He turned to her, "You're ok without me tonight, right, munchkin?" Alma nodded. She really didn’t care. As long as she knew Clint was around the building, she felt fine. She liked it when he kept lookout.

         Tony nodded, still working to compose himself, his eyes still not quite right. "Thanks. I’ll have people working on it by 9 tonight, I’m just waiting on the materials. Keep an eye on the construction workers, just in case."

         Natasha was watching Signe "Coming, kid?" She asked, leaning against the wall, still holding the elevator door open. Signe hadn’t moved. She was looking down, brow knit slightly, thinking, still hardly noticing the other people around her.

         Signe slowly turned her gaze back up to Tony, speaking slowly but speeding up. "He’s coming home tonight, the tower isn’t even secure yet, and _you_ are intoxicated..." Natasha’s weight shifted, then Clint’s. Alma let go of Clint’s shoulder, in case he needed to move suddenly. Clint could deal with this. He’d make sure nobody did anything that couldn’t be taken back. Tony still didn’t move, just braced himself a little, looking at Signe again.

         "Hey," Natasha interrupted the growing tension with a calm but quietly commanding voice, "Signe, off the elevator. I need to talk to Stark."

         Signe’s hands clenched and unclenched, and she hesitated, but she moved out of the elevator as Natasha slid into it.

         Signe turned back to the elevator, "See to your duties!" She shouted at the closing doors. Alma caught a glimpse of a glare from Tony as the doors clicked shut. Signe turned to Clint and Alma, her voice still raising in volume, gesturing with a tight arm and a wide arc towards the elevator door, "He hasn’t even gone to the hospital, has he? Phil is in the hospital, and he’s here, drinking."

         Clint didn’t raise his voice. “I don’t wanna hear it. No infighting. Not today. You keep your mouth shut till the perimeter is secure. We’ll deal with internal problems _after._ Got it?”

         Signe was still angry, but as Clint turned to head down the hall, herding Alma in front of him, she followed. "He’s not a good parent," She insisted. “This can’t stand.”

         Clint’s voice was a quiet rumble now, like far away tanks, forcing Signe and Alma to strain to hear him. “There’s a lot in this tower that needs to be dealt with. And you’re on that list already, kid. It’ll get dealt with, I promise you. But not today. Have some respect.”

         Signe stopped, balking. _“Respect?_ You tell _me_ to have respect when Tony-”

         Clint turned and cut her off with the same quietly demanding tone. “Enough. We’re not doing this now. I have things to deal with, and I want to see you calming down before I’m even going to think about leaving Alma alone with you.”

         Signe’s head jerked back, stung. Alma looked at Clint with surprise. It had been a long time since Clint had forced her to stay away from Signe. She looked at Signe, who’s jaw snapped shut, pressing her mouth shut into a thin, angry line. She gave a long, slow exhale, forcing tightness out of her shoulders. She blinked rapidly a couple of times, gave another, slightly more normal exhale, and pushed the rest of the hostility out of her pose. She nodded at Clint.

         Clint nodded back at her, tersely. He turned silently and started heading back down the hall. Alma followed him, glancing back at Signe, following them wordlessly with long strides and her head tucked down.

* * *

         Tony leaned, and tried not to sag, against the elevator wall as the doors shut. He didn’t mind looking miserable and on his last legs in front of Nat. She was almost human. But if he acted the way he really felt, he’d end up sleeping on the elevator floor, which would give the wrong impression to whoever next got on. With Tony’s luck, it would be Rogers. He rubbed his hands over his face, feeling a slight sting as he ran over the cut on his cheekbone.

         "Was that as bad as it looked?" She asked him.

         Tony thought, a little numbly, that he should probably be angrier how Signe had been acting just now. He just plain did not have the fucking energy. He’d been asleep just long enough to sober up when the call had come in, and today would be enough to take the stuffing out of him even at his most rested. He settled on just answering, "Yeah."  He was not invested in this conversation right now. He did not need another problem right this minute. "So, did you actually need to talk to me, or were you just playing the game, there?" The adrenaline was starting to filter out of his system, dropping him back into the welcomed cushion the slight haze of alcohol had gifted him. But, put that on top of the situational fatigue and he just wanted to lay down for a minute.

         "Just watching your back. Let us know if anything changes, ok? I’ll stop by tomorrow to check in." Ah, Natasha. She always knew when to leave someone the fuck alone, god bless her. The elevator door opened, and Tony walked off. She gave him a small goodbye nod, and let the elevator doors shut.

         Tony was feeling his age acutely, plus maybe another 20 years. There were reasons that he didn’t fly out with the team much anymore, and he was feeling those reasons in every joint and calcified old fracture. Even the suit could only do so much.

         He managed to rest on the workshop couch for about half a second before guilt and anxiety started to gnaw at his gut again. He got up. Right. Back to work. Get the tower fixed for Phil. For Pepper and Jamie and for himself. For the team. Make it safer. Figure out how Jarvis was going to communicate with Phil. He should really go back downstairs and run another analysis of the damaged systems in the missing walls. He noticed that he was standing in front of the fridge. He grabbed a couple high-end imported beers to take with him.

         Jarvis's voice came on overhead "Sir, Ms. Potts calling again.”

         She kept doing this to him. All day. She’d call, he’d think she was calling with news, but she’d just be trying to get him to come to the hospital again. As if it would matter. As if Phil would want to see him. As if he could help. But he had to pick up, because she was his only information source. “Pick up, then."

         "Tony?" Pepper’s voice through the speakers sounded tight, controlled, and angry.

         "Yeah," he replied, not quite daring to try to force his voice to sound calm, allowing the choked quality and a little of the shake he’d been fighting back with every ounce of rage he could muster. If he strayed accidentally into flippant tones now she’d have him drawn and quartered.

         "He's awake. Well, he was. His heart rate was going too high, so they gave him something and he... he's asleep again. But it's like they said before. He can't hear anything. All the tests have confirmed it. The primary auditory nerve is completely wrecked. There's not-" her voice cut out for a second "There's not going to be any way to fix it." Tony shut his eyes tight against that idea. Pepper kept talking "But, he woke up, and he seemed otherwise... normal. And none of the other scans have found any brain damage. His leg will be fine after a few weeks." She wasn't trying to cheer him up with that last part. She was trying to reassure herself.

         "When's he coming home?" he noticed distantly that he was pouring another glass. How long? How many hours until he had to face this directly?

         “Around 7 tonight, if possible. He's not actually all that hurt, physically. Mostly bruises. And his blood pressure is back to normal now. The only thing really wrong with him they... can't fix." She took a deep breath.

         This was the most solid, convincing proof Tony could have asked for that his contributions to society didn’t carry any meaning anymore. Humanity at large had a damn short memory, and Tony wasn’t the front man for the Avengers anymore. He had aged out of relevance, and his name couldn’t move the mountains it once had. Not even for Phil. What they remembered now was that the name Stark meant “trouble follows,” which meant “avoid.” Phil would go through the rest of his life carrying the proof that connection to Tony meant danger. Danger the hospital wanted out of their doors as fast as possible, no matter what threats Tony leveled at them. He’d tried. It didn’t matter. Iron Man was almost over, and apparently, that was public news.

         "It's possible. Of course it's possible. I can't get his room ready by then, but Banner’s suite is still sitting empty, that floor wasn’t even touched. He can use Alma’s old room." He rallied as well as he could. "It's two bedrooms, but we can make that work, no problem." _Just please get him back here_ , Tony added silently, selfishly. He hated the doctors, the hospital, and everyone connected with the medical profession right now. But the people in this tower were all Phil had, and even if Tony had failed spectacularly to protect him, he’d offer whatever he did have. Sure, this lunatic with a raygun was put down, but there always, _always_ seemed to be more of them. A never ending parade of threats. He downed his drink with one swoop, and set the bottle down. "I've been arguing with builders all day, I'll get your rooms back put together in no time. "

         There was a pause. He heard Pepper take a breath. "No." She said. Her voice was even tighter now.

         "No? What do you mean 'No'? You want to come home. I have a home here, waiting for you. So, come home." He felt suddenly cold, despite the alcohol. She hadn’t said it yet. Hadn’t said that Phil was only in this position because Tony was a constant target. But she knew. Of course she knew.

         "We're coming back to the tower. Tonight. But, Steve's offered us rooms with him, so-" He could tell by her voice that she was bracing herself.

         "What." He heard the edge to his voice. He must have misheard that.

         "I'm pretty sure you heard me." There was steel in her voice, under the slight wobble.

         Rogers? _Rogers?_ One of like half a dozen people with as many lunatics gunning for him as Tony had, who had failed Phil as much as Tony had- “Pepper, he is _My Son_ " Tony was pacing again. His voice was getting louder "You can't-"

         "Then act like it!" She yelled. She actually yelled. "Tony Stark you _left me here_. By myself. All day. He woke up and you weren't here. And now, he's getting ready to come home and you still aren't here."

         "I was getting the tower ready!" He shouted.

         "You were running away! Don’t pretend I don’t know that you could be doing everything you’ve _been_ doing from here. Where Phil needed you to be. Where I needed you to be. Do not pretend that to me Tony.” He could tell she was crying now. “So right now, you are determined not to be what he needs, and you are not what I need."

         "And Steve Rogers is? Really? We're doing this again?" Tony was furious now, anger burning away his buzz.

         “Don’t you dare start that with me. I was less angry at you when I filed for divorce. And you will not like what I do if you try to bring up Steve and me right now. I am going where Jamie is. You can stay in your workshop, or in Bruce's apartment or you can ask Steve for a spot on his couch. But after what you put me through today you will NOT tell me where I can and cannot stay. I’ve called you at least half a dozen times, Tony. If you want to hide from your son then fine, but I’m not-“ her voice cut off, choked with tears. He tried to push down the guilt at having caused that.

         He felt like the air had been sucked out of his lungs. He concentrated on staying angry. Repeat his position. Don’t think too hard about her accusation. She was just mad. “I have been here, getting _your_ home ready for _you_ and _my son_."

         "Have you. And what if I ask Jarvis to measure your blood alcohol levels for me?" She replied, instantly.

         One second more delay that he could get away with. “You don't have permissions for that." He countered flatly. oh shit. fuck fuck fuck. Wrong answer. Why did she have to make a big fucking deal out of that? Probably Steve's influence.

         "I do if you don't tell him he can't answer." She countered. Her voice almost sounded sweet under the acid.

         His voice was flat "You need to focus on Phil, not what I'm drinking."  That didn't even sound convincing to him. He cursed himself silently.

         "Then tell me it's coke. Or chocolate milk. A smoothie." There was a painful note of pleading in her voice. He couldn't answer. Pepper could always read him. He found he couldn't say anything. He stood there, muscles in his jaw working, and hand gripping the bottle, silent. Why did she have to do that? Why did she have to pick today as one of the days she took exception to the one crutch he had to help him limp through this? He’d been so busy bracing himself against her tearing him up for causing this it’d blindsided him.

"Goodbye, Tony." She hung up. He stood there for a moment before swearing and kicking over his coffee table, uselessly. 

* * *

 

         Phil still felt a bit groggy and dizzy from the painkillers, but, with a brace on his knee, he could basically walk. Everything still felt surreal, a little like he was moving through water. Being this drowsy and slow put him on edge. He didn't like having to think so slowly. He clutched the little yellow notebook and attached pen his mom gave him in his hand. He'd get a real tablet tonight. She was giving him that same smile – the one that showed how hard she was trying, and how hard she was failing, to reassuring him. She held onto his elbow to steady him, one hand on the doorknob to Steve's place.

         Steve's place? Oh. Oh yeah.

         She tapped her hand on the door, and it opened nearly immediately. Jamie stood inside. He seemed pale, and he looked up at Phil with round, watery eyes. He opened his mouth to say something, then shut it, guiltily. Phil looked down. He saw Steve's feet line up behind Jamie's.  Mom nudged him inside. He gave a long glance around the room, not wanting to look at anyone. Looked like Steve's place wasn't really hit. His chemical-sludge filled brain registered something... off... something wrong. Well, other than the obvious missing audio input from the world. He looked behind him. Mom was talking to Steve, probably thanking him for the hospitality. Steve was shaking his head, probably assuring her that he was happy to help. He caught her glance at him briefly out of the corner of her eye, and a flicker of a wince.

         So, this was how it was going to be. Pity and guilt, all around. Everyone trying to reassure him that everything would be ok, while privately panicking. He glanced down. Well, not everybody. Jamie was wearing his worry on his face openly. That was a sort of relief, actually. At least somebody was going to refrain from telling him that everything would be ok.

         Everything wasn't going to be ok. This was permanent. There wasn't going to be any more talking normally to people, or listening to music, or seeing movies in theatres. For the rest of his life he would need to be _accommodated_.

         Slowly it dawned on him that he had no idea how to go to college like this. He couldn't hear the lectures. Couldn't talk to the other people in class. No keggers at frat houses. No flirting with girls in the cafeteria. Even _if_ he finally got out of this damn tower, he couldn't ever just go around his life like a normal person. He felt dizzy, couldn't seem to breath normally...

         He felt a smallish hand on his arm, and jumped. Jamie was looking up at him from the next chair over, worried. He looked around, and realized all of them were looking at him. His panic must have been broadcasting loud and clear, and he hadn't noticed when the conversation had stopped. He swallowed, hard. If he kept panicking it would just give everyone more reason to feel sorry for him. He took a deep breath, trying to be subtle about it.

         Settle down. Settle down. He'd learned 6 languages, how long could sign language take him to learn? Way less time than Cantonese, he was sure. And it's not like deaf people didn't have jobs. And dad worked alone most of the time, and didn't need to talk to anybody. He could...

         The slow warning his brain had tried to register minutes ago finally got to him. Dad wasn't here. Mom was here, and Jamie, and Steve, but where was dad? He looked around the room again. No, definitely not here. Mom and Steve had gone back to talking to each other. He looked questioningly at Jamie, but Jamie didn't appear to register that as an attempt at communication. Phil stifled the urge to just ask Jamie what was going on. He hated hearing the absence of his voice, and didn't want to be overheard.

         He picked up the notepad they'd snagged at the hospital gift shop, scribbled, **Where's Dad?** and handed it off to Jamie. Jamie read it, and bit his lip.

         He glanced over at Mom, then wrote back, **Mom said he wasn't coming tonight. She is really angry.**

         Ok, well, that made an amount of sense. And explained why he still didn't have a reasonable tablet for communicating with. She usually got mad at dad whenever any of the kids came under fire. But... she didn't look mad at Steve, she was handing him Phil’s duffle bag and looking thankful. Usually she'd get mad at the whole team. Why was she only punishing dad?

         He took the paper back, **Tony but not Steve? Why?**

         Jamie hesitated longer this time, biting his lip. He didn't take the pad right away to answer. He looked away for a second, then wrote, **Tony was drinking. He got into a fight with pop, and wouldn't go to the hospital.** Right. He hadn’t been at the hospital. How long had Phil been there? An hour? A day? More than one day? He knew he’d been asleep for most of it.

         **How long?**

         Jamie looked thoughtful, then wrote, **You were gone about 13 hours. He was trying to fix up the tower though, for when you came back.**

         13 hours. That… yeah, that seemed like a long time for Tony not to show up. He’d always shown up before if Phil was at a hospital. Most of the time dad had even been the one to take him. So, him not showing up was weird, right? Unless he was too drunk to use the suit or drive. But even then, someone could have brought him, or he could have called a cab. Fixing the tower was good but… couldn’t he have taken a little while to visit? Even if Phil had been sleeping… he sort of wished he hadn’t known Tony hadn’t ever come by. He wondered if his dad was drinking now. Had anyone even told him that Phil was back in the tower? He was always hovering when Phil didn't want to see him, and now, when he wanted to see him... 

         ...Wait, _did_ Phil want to see him? If he was too busy drinking to see Phil in the hospital? Was that even really what had happened, or was mom keeping him away? How angry was she? She’d kept dad away for a while before, but never when things were really bad… would she do that? He didn’t know, and he was too tired and drugged up to try to figure it out.

         The notepad reappeared right in front of his face, with Jamie's handwriting Phil blinked blearily at it. **He was worried about you. Me to.**

         He wanted to tell Jamie he was ok. He took the notebook back, and paused. Jamie hated being lied to, and hadn't Phil just been pissed off at everyone trying to pretend everything was ok? He settled on, **Thanks**

         He showed it to Jamie, who gave him a tired, lopsided smile. Mom passed by with another smile attempt, and set about to pulling things out in the kitchen. Steve followed her, with an uncertain smile and a pat on Phil’s shoulder. Phil got the impression he'd be getting a lot of sympathetic patting in the next month or so. Like a 3-legged puppy.

         He added, **Make sure Tony knows I'm here, ok?** Jamie nodded gravely. Apparently he took that for an immediate order, because he then darted off down the hall to his room. Phil sat down on the ancient wood table, and looked at his hands. They were a bit cut up, but nothing bad. At least he hadn't lost his hands, right? Of course, if he had, then he could have had prosthetic hands. They didn't make prosthetic primary auditory nerves. Prosthetic ear drums, sure, but not nerves. Nobody even made anything working that could repair damaged nerves...

         ...yet... 

         ...something like nanites. That could alter human brain tissue.

         He glanced nonchalantly at his mom. True to form, she was keeping unnecessarily busy at her task, so she wouldn't have to look at anyone or think about anything else. Just like dad liked to do. Just like Phil liked to do. Keep himself occupied. Like, in the workshop.

         Mom would freak out if she knew what he was thinking right now. They were only prototypes. They were untested. Experimental. He knew what the procedure was for getting something like this safe and approved… the decades long process something like that would take.

         But the nerve was wrecked anyways, wasn't it? Even if he destroyed his eardrum trying, he'd be no worse off than he was now...

         He felt the urge to bolt up to the lab, to look over his prototypes and his notes, to figure out if he could actually do this. He stood up, and registered immediate lightheadedness. Hm. Yeah. Ok, maybe let the painkillers get out of his system first. Besides, dad would be in the workshop right now. And Phil wasn't too sure he wanted to deal with that yet. He didn't know if his dad would try to blow this off, or be sympathetic, but neither option seemed worth putting up with right now.

         He sat back down in the chair suddenly, and immediately Steve was there at his elbow, checking on him.

         Yeah. This was going to get old real fast. He was going to have to fix this as soon as possible.


	5. Chapter 5

         Phil didn't know what to do with himself at six in the morning. Six am was not a problem he was used to dealing with. But the medications had knocked him out around 8pm last night, and even feeling as lousy as he did, he just couldn't sleep anymore.  He wandered Steve's place a little. Jamie's door was closed, so he was probably sleeping, and so was the guest room, so mom was probably asleep too. What time did those two get up, anyways? He knew it was early, but he wasn't sure what the actual time was. He thought about trying to listen through the door to see if he could hear any sign of movement, and that brought up a stab of loss, anger, and resentment.

 

         Refocus. Steve's bedroom door was open, but a cautious peek around the door showed that Steve wasn't there. He wandered out into the living room, and did a quick scan of the living room and kitchen to confirm that Steve wasn't actually anywhere in the apartment. Probably down the hall in the training room. He briefly considered going down to find him but...what was the point in that?

 

         He sat down, somewhat cautiously, on Steve's brown leather sofa. He was still achey all over, especially his knee. He grabbed the remote and flipped on the TV, automatically turning down the volume so he wouldn't wake up anybody else. He stopped, arm stretched out with the remote, looking at the volume bar on the TV.

 

         Goddamnit.

 

         God _damnit_.

 

         He flicked the remote away, letting it drop on the floor.

 

         Ok, settle the fuck down. Closed captioning, right? That's a thing. So, how did you turn that on? Jarvis could turn it on, even from here, he was sure. He felt his foot start to fidget, felt himself hesitating, and took a second to figure out why. He realized he didn't want to talk to Jarvis. He didn't want to _talk_. For some reason, the sudden absence of his own voice hit particularly hard. He hated talking, and not having as much information about what he sounded like as anyone else hearing him. Being unable to hear himself felt like his voice was missing, as well as his auditory nerves. His foot bounced again. He was starting to feel restless. At least he could think clearly now, those stupid pain meds were out of his system.

 

         Hey, yeah. He could think clearly. And nobody was around. He stood up, wincing because _ow_. Yes, still sore all over. Dad would be asleep at this time of morning, and he would have the workshop to himself. He didn’t bother changing out of his pjs, just slipped on some shoes and headed towards the workshop.

 

         One hallway and an elevator ride and he was home. His shoulders unknotted just looking at the workshop. It smelled strongly of metal. He stepped off the elevator gratefully, and headed directly over to his workbench on the left hand wall. Jarvis had already turned the lights on, and the glare off the bank of windows made the lab into a solitary little bubble of tech-based solace. He sat carefully at his workbench, surveying his tiny, but very technologically advanced, kingdom. Yeah. everything would be all right. He didn't need hearing for this. Maybe this could even get him _back_ his hearing.  

 

         He picked up a petri dish of nanites -- looked like nobody had bothered to move them after his whole supervillainy intervention after all. Was that really less than 48 hours ago? Whatever. They were still here.

 

         After a couple seconds, he registered that the table was...vibrating slightly. He frowned at it. The bench was vibrating, too. Had the workshop always done that? Maybe the whole tower vibrated a little from the various systems inside it.  Maybe he'd just never noticed it before. He’d calibrated the nanite fabrication unit to account for vibrations automatically, so he’d never _had_ to notice.Your other senses were supposed to do better after you lost one, right?

 

         But, after less than 24 hours? That seemed unlikely. His breath came up a little short as he briefly considered that the vibration could be a sign of another attack, a tiny precursor to shattering walls and crumbling floors. But no. This vibration seemed familiar. Kind of...soothing, actually. He turned on the bench to survey the rest of the room for clues.

 

         His eyes landed pretty quickly on dad, on the far end of the workshop. He wasn't looking at Phil, but his body was angled towards him enough for Phil to guess that dad had been looking, but had turned away.

 

         Phil tapped his foot, trying to decide what to do. He didn't want to leave. He had work to do here. But...did he want to talk to his dad? Would his dad even approach him? He hadn’t brought up his legal pad because he figured he’d be alone. He watched as his father turned away from him, picking up a tablet and starting to type.

 

         Oh. Ok. So that's how it was going to be then. Phil turned back to his own table, and willed himself to go back to the feeling of calm anticipation he'd had seconds before. The table was still vibrating. Oh. He knew what that was. That was the bass on some of dads old screaming-rock music. That's why it felt so familiar. He'd been feeling that bassline since he was in utero, probably. Ok, so now he knew something. Vibrating floor equals dad in the workshop.

 

         Was he really not going to come over here?

 

         Maybe mom had told him to stay away from Phil. Would she do that? Would dad have listened? She might have figured Phil would want his space. Which he did. Probably. Steve's hovering last night had been about the most obnoxious thing Phil could remember, even if Steve had been trying very, very hard to pretend he wasn't paying much attention. Then again, mom’s anxious sad stolen glances were also pretty bad. Jamie, on the other hand, seemed to have appointed himself Phil’s lieutenant. That was pretty tolerable. Jamie's support felt like backup, rather than the smothering attempts to predict his needs he was getting from the adults. God, what was Thor going to be like? He was going to reclassify Phil as a helpless invalid, not even injured in combat. Phil stifled a groan. At least, he hoped he did.

 

          Refocus. He reached for a storage disk and felt himself yelp as he encountered a hand on his table. _Why was there a hand on his table?!_ He jumped up, but his knees were not taking orders like usual today, and his legs tangled in the bench. Thankfully, his arms _were_ taking orders today, and he managed to catch himself on the table edge instead of falling over. He found himself facing...Tony.

 

         Oh.

 

_Right._

 

         Tony was just standing there, holding out a data pad to him. He looked…he looked like shit. He needed a shave and a shower, his face was cut, and his clothes were wrinkled. Had he slept in them? He didn't look like he'd slept at all. He was standing upright -- he hadn't tried to catch Phil when he went flailing over, although his knuckles were white on a sturdily-built tablet. Phil tried to read his expression: thinned lips, bloodshot eyes, some kind of tension around the eyes that could be eye strain, or focus, or part of the overall expression of some emotion, or a hangover... Nope, Phil couldn't name it. Dad didn't want to be read right now. But his body language was neutral. Carefully neutral and inaccessible.

 

         Phil straightened up and took the data pad. There was a program display he didn't quite recognize up on its screen. It looked like a chatroom, and had a keyboard embedded in the interface. Not one of the old QWERTY keyboards, designed to slow you down, but a Devorak keyboard, like he and dad both preferred. Not a public use program, then.

 

         Words appeared on the screen.

 

**DAD: Made you this overnight. Voice recognition software. It'll recognize anyone in the tower, or who's visited regularly. It types while they talk. Jarvis is babysitting the voice recognition right now to help train it in, so it might be a little buggy outside his range, but for around here it should work perfectly. It can tell who's talking, obviously.**

 

         Phil blinked at the screen. This...this was actually helpful. Hell of a lot better than a legal notepad, anyways. He hadn't honestly realized people even still used paper pads. Now he could tell what was going on around him without people stopping to write things down just for him. This was helpful. Maybe mom hadn’t told him to stay out. He’d just been working on this, was all.

 

         He looked up at his dad. Dad shrugged. He looked back down at the keyboard. Ok, so the keyboard was for answering with. **Thanks** he typed, and held it up for dad to read.

 

         His dad shook his head. He started talking, and Phil looked back down at the tablet **DAD: C'mon, it's better than that. You type, and it talks. You can talk too, obviously, but if you're going to type, it'll do the talking for you.**

 

         Phil nodded. This really was helpful. Useful. Humiliatingly, painfully necessary. He looked up at dad again, and stretched at least something like a tired smile onto his face. Dad looked a little calmer now, more open. Had he been nervous about coming over here?

 

         His dad patted the desk a couple times, and started to turn back towards his own work area, leaving Phil to his work, without even a comment about nanites. Maybe he'd forgotten all about that during yesterdays ...stuff. He really didn't look too well. Sleep deprived and yeah, probably hungover. Bet he hadn't eaten, either.

 

         He typed into the pad **You look like shit, Tony. You should go to bed.**

 

         Tony turned back, looking bemused. Phil looked back at the pad, expectantly.

 

 **DAD: That's gratitude for you. Anyways, I would, but you're working in my current bedroom**.

 

**You're sleeping in the workshop? Why?**

**DAD: Your ceiling, my floor. We have the repair crew on it, but it's gonna take a few days.**

**Heh. This thing says "gonna" instead of "going to".**

**DAD: it's supposed to "sound" like real people. Real people say gonna. We don't need to sound correct. That's what Jarvis is for. He can interface with the pad directly, by the way.**

**Why don't you just stay in Banner's old place?**

**DAD: Not mine. Besides, he has shit taste in...well, pretty much everything. If I get tired enough, I'll sleep. Don't worry about it.**

 

         Phil glanced up at dad again. He was smiling. He really did look like shit, though. And if mom hadn’t told him to stay out, nobody was avoiding anybody. **I can bunk with Jamie. You can take my room at Steve's place.**

 

         Phil looked up to see how that idea was received. Dad was...wincing? He definitely looked uncomfortable.

 

 **DAD: The Captain and I are not on the best terms right now.** What? That one hadn’t even occurred to him. No, that was dumb.

**Tell him it was my idea. Pretty sure nobody is going to deny me anything for at least a week.**

 

         Dad still looked hesitant, but he was thinking about it. And he was amused by Phil’s blatant willingness to cash in on sympathy to get his way.  

 

**Better than eating your cooking.**

 

         Dad looked like he snickered. He hung his head for a second, and Phil couldn’t see his face. When it came back up, he was smirking. He patted Phil's shoulder and nodded. He then turned behind him suddenly, but without alarm. Phil followed his gaze, and saw Jamie, also still clad in pajamas, step off the elevator. He was carrying the yellow legal pad. Dad nodded to him with a tired smile. Time to try out this thing’s ability to tell him what other people were saying to each other.

 

**DAD: Hey kiddo. Thanks for the call last night.**

**JAMIE: That's ok. How…how is he?**

**DAD: Ask him yourself.**

 

         Phil looked up to see Jamie giving him those big anxious eyes again. He pulled up the yellow pad. Phil decided to cut that off.

 

**Just talk, dumbass.**

 

         Jamie jumped. He looked at Phil, then dad, who was standing with his arms crossed, looking smug.

 

**JAMIE: New tech?**

**DAD: Just finished it about an hour ago. Software integration, mostly. It'll tell him what you say.**

         Jamie looked back at Phil.

**JAMIE: It sounds like you.**

 

         That surprised Phil a little. What was the point of that? After a moment's consideration, though, he found he did prefer it. He should talk to people with his own voice. If he couldn’t stand to feel his voice work without hearing it, at least he could intellectually know that he sounded like himself, if he felt like thinking about it. This felt like a chat. That felt fine.

 

         With this tech in his hands, and the hope of nanites in the near future, things were feeling pretty ok. That, or maybe there was still some Vicodin in his system. Hard to say, but for now, he'd take it.

 

         Movement on the screen caught his attention.

 

**JAMIE: Mom says it's time for breakfast. She freaked out some when you weren't in the apartment when she woke up. Jarvis told her where you are. She sent me to get you, since you can't hear Jarvis.**

 

         Ah, right. Jarvis didn't "eavesdrop" on Steve's place the way he did at home or at dad's. Jarvis wouldn't have known they were trying to reach him. Phil looked regretfully at his workbench. He hadn't so much as reviewed a schematic. He _was_ hungry, though. And Steve made good eggs, which he would for sure be making today, for Phil. He could still come back after breakfast, to take a break from the hovering downstairs. He stood up, paused, and typed **Coming?**

 

         He looked at dad, who shrugged and nodded, and headed over to the elevator. Phil followed, flicking Jamie’s ear to try to snap him out of his gloomy frame of mind. He didn't need anyone else sulking around him. Jamie followed along behind him.

 

* * *

 

         Tony followed Phil down the hall, Jamie trailing after them both like a collie. He watched Phil. This was wrong. This was all wrong. Was Phil faking his calm? Was he just that much better at coping with this than Tony would be? Was he in denial? Shock? How the hell was Tony supposed to know what to do here? Phil was just up and walking around as if he was fine -- well, not quite as if he was fine, he was definitely moving stiffly and had a noticeable limp, but he seemed so… _normal._ How could he be _normal_ when Tony’d been alternately panicking, crushingly depressed, and guilty all night?

 

         Whenever Tony tried to consider the possible ramifications of Phil being deaf, his brain stalled. He couldn't wrap his head around it. Tony was aging, falling apart, but he was still basically whole and functional, even after over 20 years of superheroing and 40 years of living hard and fast. Phil hadn't even made it to full adulthood in one piece. And he hadn’t even given Tony so much as a dirty look over it.

 

         Every one of the kids had said it at one point -- they ended up in danger because of what their parents did. Phil had screamed it at the top of his lungs for about a year around age 12, and again for a while around 15. It always resulted in a huge fight. Which was stupid, of course, since it was true. Phil was deaf because of his connection to the Avengers. To Tony. Altered permanently and severely by an outside force. 

 

         There was no way Phil was really as collected as he seemed. Nobody was that calm and accepting, and Phil was no Buddha. This was going to crack open. Tony was frankly terrified at what the result of that might be. Whatever was going on in Phil's head, he clearly wasn’t reaching to Tony for help with it. Not like when he’d been scared as a kid.

 

         He figured that, at the least, Phil would never speak to him again when whatever dam was holding Phil together broke. Worst case scenario...Suicide? Would Phil do that? Was supervillainy an option? Because _fuck that_ , he wasn't fighting Phil no matter what city he was blowing up. Tony tried desperately to search Phil’s appearance for signs of the coming storm, but gave up quickly. That was not his forte. He'd need reinforcements for that.

 

         So, better make nice with Steve today. Tony fought back bitterness. No, there was no time for any of that bullshit this morning. Enjoy this while it lasted.

 

         Phil walked into Steve's place, and Tony sauntered in behind him, daring Steve or Pepper to say anything about it. Pepper wanted him to "act like" Phil’s father? Ok. Fine. While everyone in this apartment had been in their beds, Tony had stayed up all night making something that would _actually help_.

 

         Steve was at the stove making eggs, and ok, those smelled pretty damn amazing. Both Steve and Pepper gave him a quick once-over, which was some pretty outstanding nerve, but Steve looked at Pepper before reacting, and all she said was "I wish you'd at least changed clothes first."  Well ok then. A truce, at least. Good enough. Tony slid into a chair at the dining table. Steve silently took another plate down from the cabinet, face unreadable. Phil sat down at Tony's right, eyes on the tablet.

 

         Now it was Tony's turn to appraise Pepper and Steve. Damn it, they made it damn hard to feel adversarial when they both looked halfway dead. He didn't really feel like extending empathy towards them at the moment, and looked away. Jamie sat down next to Phil, reading over his shoulder. Phil was already toying with the settings. Of course he was. That was Phil. That was a good sign. Phil being himself. Tony smiled a little.

 

         Tony drummed on the table, uncomfortable with the unnatural silence in the room. "So, where's the rest of the troop? I would've expected Frosty and the little ninja down here by now at least." Oh yeah. Signe had menaced him in the elevator yesterday, hadn't he? No, better not bring that up. Just let that one go for today.

 

         Pepper answered, "Signe and Alma are with Thor. He said they were working on some sort of project late last night. They'll be by when they wake up."

 

         Phil frowned down at his data pad slightly, and started typing. His voice came through, sounding properly puzzled. "What sort of project?" Ha. _Yes._ The facial expression/voice tone matching software was working perfectly.

 

         Pepper jumped. Steve paused in his breakfast preparations, skillet in the air. Tony felt a pang at guilt at their startled, painfully close to hopeful expressions. They couldn't see Phil’s tablet from the kitchen. They, at least, were affected, even if Phil seemed unnaturally indifferent. Jamie turned in his seat to head that off at the pass. "Tony made some software to translate what everyone says into text for him. It says who’s talking, too.”

 

         Tony shrugged again, wishing he could feel more smug about this one. He'd been the first to get something truly helpful to Phil. "Better than a legal pad." he commented, leaning back. Yep. Gracious as hell. Not making waves at all.

 

         The tablet spoke again. “So everyone can stop giving everyone else the silent treatment now.”

 

         Steve finished putting eggs on plates, leaning over to look at the tablet. "Why's it talk for him too?” he brought over the eggs and set the first plate down in front of Phil, who didn't look up. “Your throat feel ok?"

 

         Pepper stood up, joining Steve, but on the other side of Phil, who Tony could already see was clenching up. God, people, give the boy some space, or it wouldn’t just be Tony he’d be done with. Leave him a little family to come back to. Pepper sounded confused. "Was it talking? It sounded like Phil."

 

         "My throat is fine," Phil answered via the pad. It sounded annoyed. Hah. Perfect. He refused to look up from the pad at either of them.

 

         The talking bit had actually been from what Jamie’d told him -- that Phil was using the fucking _paper_ _legal pad_ to answer people instead of just to listen. Tony didn't know why, and figured that it wasn't his business. If that was what the user wanted, then he'd just build it in.

 

         Pepper looked at Tony. She had softened towards him since last night. She could never stay mad at him for as long as she should. "Is this why you look like a hobo this morning? You were up making this all night?"

 

         Tony shrugged again. It would be tasteless in the bad way to brag about this one, and might tempt someone to point out things they weren’t currently saying about Tony’s level of accountability in all this. Plus he hadn’t actually started it till well after midnight, when the idea hit him. "Just helping out. The builders will be back at 9, by the way." Pepper softened a little further, and nodded. She sat down next to Jamie.

 

         Steve somehow looked more depressed, but less shuttered. Tony was back in good graces again. He also nodded at Tony, a little more curtly. "Good idea." He said simply. His voice was off. Huh. Yeah, Rogers would be thrown way off for one of his own to be permanently damaged. He didn't even have to put up with aging, much less disability.

 

         One of his own. Tony remembered with a wince the argument that had taken place in this room yesterday. Crap. He glanced at Jamie, regretting his foot-in-mouth moment from the previous afternoon. He wondered if Jamie had felt rejected by it. If his relationship to Tony even mattered enough to him for a remark like that to hurt.  Tony had kept Jamie at arms length for a long time, so maybe not.  Jamie caught Tony looking and looked up from over Phil’s shoulder. Fuck, that kid had a piercing look sometimes. Tony couldn't read him, though. Tony gave a small peace offering of a smile. Jamie gave him a skeptical look and shifted his attention to shoveling eggs in his mouth. Well, if he was pissed about it, there wasn’t anything Tony was going to be able to do about it right now.

 

         Tony laid into the plate of eggs in front of him. Pepper and Steve were both doing remarkably bad jobs of pretending not to be anxiously watching Phil. Oh, this was going to drive Phil nuts. Tony was not going to be happy if _they_ drove Phil over the edge instead of the deafness itself. But, on the other hand, Tony had to count on their obnoxious hovering to catch when Phil started to crack. Catch-22. Better wait till Phil wasn’t around before he said anything.

 

         The silence stretched on. Tony tried to come up with a subject of conversation least likely to severely piss anybody off. He could swear he had gotten ok at not pissing people off at some point, but the skill seemed to have atrophied lately.

 

         Thankfully, Phil broke the silence. "Jamie, do you care if I bunk in your room for a while?" Phil turned his head to look at Jamie, who looked outright shocked.

 

         "My room? Why?" Shocked and...some other emotion Tony couldn't name.

 

         "Tony's being an idiot and sleeping on the couch in the workshop. I said he could have my room if you don't mind sharing yours with me till our rooms get fixed." Tony raised an eyebrow. This felt a little like charity, and not the end of charity he liked to be on, but...

 

         He looked around the table. Pepper looked wary and not thrilled with the idea. How flattering. Steve looked borderline alarmed. Then thoughtful. Then he settled back into his chair with a very comfortable air of having made a decision. Fuuuck. This was going to turn into keeping an eye on Tony, wasn't it? _No, idiot, watch Phil!_ Steve's voice was even. “That’s a nice thing to offer, Phil. Jamie, that ok with you?"

 

         Jamie was still caught flat-footed."Uh...ok." Pepper looked quietly overwhelmed, but nodded, and that was that. Tony, Pepper, Steve, Phil, and Jamie, all sharing one kitchen and two bathrooms. Should be interesting. And probably a horrible disaster. But, he'd do his best to enjoy it while it lasted.

 

* * *

 

         Jamie finished up putting away the dishes, and glanced over at Phil in pops recliner. He was watching TV with closed captioning on, and Jarvis had muted the sound. Tony was sacked out, completely unconscious on the couch.

 

         Phil had just about lost it when mom said that she intended to skip work for a few days and stick around the residential floors of the tower. Jamie felt bad about that. She clearly hadn’t wanted to leave, but Phil had practically shoved her out the door. That tablet really did sound like him, right down to every little angry inflection. Pop had gone to help with the dismantling of the crazy professors lab. Usually that would be Tony's job, but he was out cold well before pop had left, and nobody wanted to wake him.

 

         Jamie leaned on the kitchen counter, looking at Phil. He still had the tablet in his lap, positioned in his peripheral vision. He looked pretty zoned out. Which could mean that he really was just watching TV, or that he'd taken another painkiller, or that he was doing some kind of intense calculations internally. Jamie watched for tells for one or the other, but didn’t have any luck.

 

         He jumped a little at the sound of the door knocking. Phil’s glance down told him that this was another noise that the tablet would make Phil aware of. Jamie went to the door, a bit eagerly. He hadn't seen Alma and Signe since yesterday morning. He suspected Thor and Clint had told them to keep out from underfoot. He opened the door to...a wall of stuff. He blinked as Signe's head peered around it. She was carrying a large armload of just...stuff.

 

         She smiled at him a little nervously. She had her girl face on today. "May we come in? We have brought...gifts. Of a sort."

 

         Alma's voice piped up behind her. "It's yours and Phil’s stuff."

 

         Jamie peered at it all as he moved out of the doorway for them to pass through. Uh...thanks? Keep your voices down though, ok? Tony is sleeping." Signe paused, arms full of stuff, to give a righteous glare at Tony. What was that about? And Alma, carrying a much smaller pile of stuff and looking nervous, kept glancing at Signe. Phil looked up at them from the recliner. He seemed relaxed and almost...amused? People were acting weird today. Jamie didn't like it. Phil got to his feet with a little wincing and wobbling. Jamie could practically see Signe restraining herself from helping him to his feet. He waved them to follow him, and limped off towards the bedrooms. They followed.

 

         Phil sat himself at Jamie’s desk, rocking the chair lazily. Jamie sat on the bed, and Alma and Signe deposited their loads on the floor. Signe straightened, looking uncomfortable. She looked at Jamie, apparently searching for a cue for what to do next. Phil’s tablet spoke first: "I have voice recognition software. Just talk.” 

 

         Signe grinned over at Phil. "That's excellent! Very good! On the tablet there? It understands us well enough?" Phil nodded.

 

         Alma flopped back against the side of the mattress, relaxing suddenly "Oh good. I couldn't learn sign as fast as you will. And my handwriting is terrible." Phil just nodded again, eyeing the stuff pile.

 

         Signe gestured to the pile in front of her. "We've brought you your things. Well, what we could bring. What wasn't too broken. Most of your clothing was intact. We have laundered it!"

 

         "We dug through the rubble last night." Alma concluded.

 

         Now that Jamie had a better look, he recognized several objects in the pile, mostly clothing. He slid off the bed onto the floor, and pulled out a shirt. It was one of his, a blue button-up. It hadn't even occurred to him to worry about his stuff. He glanced up, trying to remember if he'd left his guitar in his room or in the living room that night. It wouldn't possibly have survived the fall. He felt a pang of some emotion between guilt and regret at the thought of his guitar. He would feel awkward playing it now anywhere but his room. He wouldn't want Phil to see him with it. The sensation settled into a feeling of loss, tinged with resentment he tried to push away. This wasn't the worst thing he'd lost out of consideration to Phil, but unlike many of them, this one was 100% not Phil’s fault.

 

         Phil wheeled over his chair next to the stuff, tablet balanced on a knee. He pulled a t-shirt out of the pile. It was Jamie’s. He tossed it at him, and it landed half draped over Jamie’s head. Jamie shot him a mild glare, which Phil didn't seem to notice as he pulled out a different t-shirt that actually belonged to him. He smiled at it. Jamie rolled his eyes. Phil was vain enough to have favorite shirts. Phil paused to type, as the tablet talked: "Thanks, guys. I never keep any of my good stuff down here. Some of it probably doesn't even fit anymore." Signe beamed with pride.

 

         Alma smiled and leaned her back against the bed. "Those pajamas sure don't. They look almost ready to be given to Jamie. Didn't you get those like 3 years ago?"

 

         Phil craned over, winced, and then lifted his good leg to inspect it. Just like Alma had said, they were a couple inches too short. They probably would be Jamie’s in the near future. Great. Plaid flannel hand-me-downs. The worst of it was that they would still be too big on Jamie. No, the worst was that Phil would undoubtedly point that out. Probably every time he wore them. Jamie had very few hand-me-downs, most of Phil's old clothing got given to charity, but Jamie had bowed before common sense and agreed to accept pajamas as hand-me-downs, since they were at least comfortable, and never got seen outside the tower. It seemed too petty to fuss over.

 

         Phil was still looking at his pajamas considerately, typing with one hand. "Where did these even come from? I don't remember putting them on."

 

         “Pop brought them to mom while you were still out," he said, pulling a pair of Phil’s pants out of the pile and handing them over. “There. now you can actually get dressed." Phil took the pants, and started a pile of his stuff on Jamie's desk.

 

         They sorted things for a few minutes, pausing now and then to tease either Jamie or Phil about some object that had been found -- a hideous sweater, an old childhood toy, a picture with a goofy face. It was pretty easy to tell what belonged to which of them.

 

         Jamie saw a flicker of motion that caught his attention. He looked at Alma. The motion had come from her direction. She met his eyes. Her expression told him that she knew she'd been caught, but was begging Jamie not to tell. Had she pocketed something? He'd pretty much made up his mind to just ask her later, but too late. Phil had noticed her expression. He gave her a questioning look. She shot him back one of blank confusion. He wasn't buying it. He was used to Alma’s excellent poker face, and Jamie had inadvertently given her away. She shot Jamie a brief dirty look. Phil typed, his voice now coming jarringly from the floor where the tablet was. "What did you do, Al?”

 

          Alma sighed, drooping slightly. She dug a music player out of her pocket. It was Phil’s. "I already have my own. I just thought you might not wanna see it. Cause..." She put it in Phil's outstretched hand, letting the sentence trail off. Jamie’s heart sank. Signe looked pained.

 

         Phil, on the other hand, just rolled his eyes, then added the player to his pile on the desk. He typed, "Mitts off, kid, or you're off sorting duty." He gave her a warning look without any tooth to it.

 

         Jamie's brow knit. That wasn't right. That wasn't Phil. Phil hated even to lose at cards. He couldn't possibly be taking the loss of his hearing so nonchalantly. In the span of a day he'd lost normalcy, music, and probably a good portion of his independence. There was no way he could be this calm about that. He studied Phil. But no, he really did seem calm.

        

         Alma had gone back to sorting, guiltily, muttering about that it wasn't like she was stealing it. Phil chucked another shirt at Jamie. Jamie looked at Signe, but she was keeping busy with sorting, not looking at Phil. Everyone in this room seemed more upset than Phil. Just like at breakfast.

 

         Why had he taken back the player? He couldn't use it. He didn't need it for parts, he could get any part he needed in the workshop. Phil caught him watching him, and looked up with a cocky questioning look, practically inviting the question. But...Jamie didn't want to ask it. He didn't want to rub salt in the wound like that. For right now, Phil seemed ok. Why rock the boat? He looked down, back at the sorting, and Phil let it slide without further comment.

 

         He must be in denial. That was one of those stages of grieving things. Well, that was fair.

 

         But as Jamie kept sorting, he continued to shoot Phil glances, trying to read him. Phil’s mind was elsewhere, planning or calculating or engineering. Which was more or less normal. But he wasn't talking about whatever it was, which was very very un-normal. Usually Phil wouldn't shut up about whatever it was he was working on. The words just seemed to spill out of him when his brain got too full, especially when he was stressing about something. But Phil was keeping a tight lid on whatever it was this time. True, rambling took more effort now that he had to type, and his hands were full, but it wasn't normal for Phil not to announce his thoughts. He was keeping secrets. What was more, he was keeping secrets from Jamie, which he never did. Even when Jamie would occasionally have preferred him to. This wasn't one of those times.

 

          Jamie considered asking him, but found himself again hesitant to speak, in case he broke whatever it was that seemed to be holding Phil together right now. Maybe Phil would tell him later.

 

* * *

 

         Thor sat perched on the edge of the roof, legs hanging comfortably over the edge, Mjolnir resting at his side. He alternated scanning the skyline for trouble with peering at the construction going on a few floors down. He doubted there was any need for this surveillance at the moment, but Clint had been adamant that this would give Tony and Pepper additional peace of mind, so here he was. It was grave business they had to attend to, and if Thor could ease some of their discomfort by simply taking a shift keeping watch, he was more than happy to do it. Besides, his patio door was still broken, so it was no warmer at home. He had quietly put in a request to have the door repaired today, but if the maintenance crews didn’t get to it, he would not complain.

 

         He let his mind wander over the past few days. He was more than accustomed to chaos, but rarely had so much of the chaos been centered in his own home. First the government being concerned about the children, and then an attack on the tower and the irreparable damaging of one of their own. Thor felt a pang of guilt at having not killed the madman that had injured Phil while in the heat of battle. Now the man was locked behind bars, beyond Thor’s immediate grasp. To kill him now would be to murder him in cold blood, and Thor had no taste for that. Still, if the man came up dead in his cell, he would not ask Clint or Natasha where they had been at the time.

 

         He heard the faint footfalls of Natasha being careful not to sneak up behind him, then saw her join him at the roof's edge. She was several hours earlier than he had expected her to come for her turn. She handed him a thermos of hot coffee. "How're you holding up?" she asked.

 

         "All is quiet from here. And inside? How do they fare?"

 

         "I haven't been down there yet, but I gather Tony spent the night in his workshop. Now he's at Steve's." She joined him in scanning the horizon for potential trouble.

 

         "Then I am happy to be on the roof."

 

         "Steve left already, didn't you see his bike go? He and Pepper both left within the last couple hours."

 

         Thor smiled ruefully. "I don't watch what leaves, just what's coming. I expect Signe and Alma are also there by now. They gathered Phil and Jamie's belongings from the street last night, and cleaned them." He was a touch proud at that.

 

         "Yeah," Natasha sighed. "We need to have a talk about Signe." Her tone was neutral. That was usually a bad sign. Thor bristled reflexively. There had been too much criticism of his daughter lately.

 

         "And why is that?" he asked, rather than snap at her. Natasha was not one for jumping at shadows. He had learned to trust her insight.

 

         She continued to watch the skyline as she spoke. "Last night, I ran across her in the elevator with Stark, and it looks like I interrupted something pretty heated. She had him just about backed into a corner, and had him by the shoulders. Alma was freaking out. I didn't get the whole story, but it's not that hard to put together."

 

         It wasn't. Thor had heard Signe's angry muttering at several points during the previous night, angry that Tony hadn't gone to the hospital to see Phil, angry that Tony had been drinking before the danger was passed, angry at Tony in general. This put Alma’s anxious glances in a new light, however. "She was concerned for Phil," he said in her defense.

 

         "'Concerned' is fine. Threatening is not."

 

         "Do you _know_ that she threatened him with harm? Signe is impassioned, but she would not harm Tony."

 

         "Thor, do not do this. Don't dismiss this. I like Signe, you know I do. But she's always had a bad temper. And one punch from her would be all it would take when Tony hasn't got his suit on."

 

         "She would not harm Tony," Thor insisted, more forcefully.

 

         "It wouldn't have been a short trip from what I saw last night. I don't know if she realized how close she came to breaking his arm. A fracture, at least."

 

         "This is why I didn't want to discuss her...background with anyone. Now you see treachery where there is only protectiveness." He had expected this. Now that the truth was out, how much would they compare her to him? To what they _thought_ they knew of him. At least none of them knew anything of her mother.

 

         "Thor, everyone has known about that for at least 10 years now. And I didn't say treachery. I’m sure she'd feel bad if she broke Tony's arms. But she'd still have done it. And with higher-ups watching her for bad behavior, we don't need that kind of attention." 

 

         Thor gripped his thermos. He felt the metal flex under his hands, and deliberately relaxed them. Midgard was so fragile. _People_ in Midgard were so fragile.

 

         Natasha was watching him. "I don't think Signe is a bad person. Like you said, she was just protective of Phil. But sooner or later, she's going to want to strike out on her own, and before she does, she's going to have to get a grip on that temper. Get used to normal, breakable people. Ideally, before she comes under the wrong kind of attention for it.”

 

         "She is very good with Jamie and Alma," he objected, unable to shake the impression that Natasha was seeing things under the influence of Signe's lineage.

 

         "Yes, she is. But I stopped by your apartment looking for you..." She didn't have to finish that thought.

 

         Thor winced. "Those are only things. Not even precious things. Easily replaced."

 

         "And do you remember why you started buying such easily replaced, cheap furniture?" Natasha prompted. Of course he did. Signe's early childhood tantrums were nearly the stuff of legend now, within the tower. For much of Signe’s younger years Thor had not been able to let anyone but Steve babysit her. There was a period where Banner couldn't be around her at all. Signe had broken so much before age 10 that Thor had given up on any sturdy or fine furniture, and had stuck with easy replaceability. But Signe hadn't thrown a tantrum in...almost 48 hours _,_ but _before_ _that_ it had been about a year. And even at her worst, she never turned her tiny fists to any of her nearly-brothers or sister.

 

         "I enjoy IKEA," Thor grumbled, knowing full well he sounded like he was sulking.

 

         Natasha smiled. "Yes you do. Just think about it, alright? Our big disfunctional family doesn't need any more disfunction right now. And Signe breaking Stark’s arm, even if it's an accident, is not going to improve the atmosphere around here, or our collective reputation.”

 

         "I wish Banner were here," Thor commented, almost to himself. He wished he at least some way of contacting the doctor. He had been so good with Signe’s anger when she was young, after the mindless tantrums of the earliest years had passed. He was so familiar with ways to control the internal pressure they both shared. But when Bruce had left, he’d done so completely, leaving no way to contact him. It ate at Thor -- another family member he’d lost to their own rage, this one against his will.

 

         She sighed. “I think if Bruce could have helped Signe, he'd still be here."

 

         Silence unfolded for a few more moments. Thor’s mind turned back to the others. “And Phil, how does he fare?”

 

         "He'll manage." She leaned back with a sigh, resting on her outstretched arms. "He's a smart kid, he’ll adapt."

 

         Thor nodded. Phil _would_ figure out some way to adapt. The pain he felt now at his loss would not go on forever. Eventually Phil would move past it, and make himself stronger. Phil’s current pain grieved him, but he had faith that Phil would bring himself through this. His scar would be the mark of his fortitude and bravery, much as Odin's eye had become, in time, a mark of his victory. 

 

         Thor glanced at Natasha, wondering if she had plans for their attacker. He wouldn't know until the man turned up dead. "Tony will be taking it hard." Tony had difficulty tolerating Phil’s vaccinations as a child. He seemed to feel his son’s pain more acutely than his own.

 

         She nodded, eyes still on the skyline. “I think that’s safe to say, yeah. Do you want to go in? I can take over here."

 

         "Are you sure? I've been here only a few hours."

 

         "Yeah, sure. Go get your apartment back in order before Steve sees it and decides he has something else he needs to worry about."

 

         Thor got to his feet. "Thank you, then, I will. Call me if you want anything brought out to you." She gave a wave of acknowledgment and went back to watching the city around her. Thor had more interior matters to deal with, now.

 

* * *

 

         Steve returned to his own apartment in the early afternoon. Most of the equipment in Professor Lezanski’s lab had been packed up and taken away by the officers who had been helping Steve out. He hadn't seen anyone from SHIELD there, as far as he could tell, but they’d be involved somewhere along the way. He tossed his jacket over a chair back, noticing that no lights seemed to be on in his apartment, just the sunlight filtering through the blinds. Tony was still sacked out on the couch, but there were no other signs of people there. Just to be sure, he walked by the guest room, and Jamie and Phil’s respective rooms, confirming that they were empty, and getting out of the range of accidentally waking Tony up.

 

         "Jarvis? Where are the kids?"

 

         "Phillip is in the lab. James, Signe and Alma are in the Barton’s residence. I believe they are studying."

 

         "Phil is by himself?"

 

         "Yes, sir."

 

         That didn't seem fair. Phil shouldn't have to be by himself now. Steve already felt bad for having been out of the apartment when he’d gotten up. Then again, maybe he wanted to be alone? Steve sighed. Well, better make use of this time. He headed back out into the living room, and sat down in his recliner, turning it to face the couch.

 

         He looked at Tony, trying not to look _too_ hard at his friend. He didn’t often see Tony sleeping without the risk of giving himself away, didn’t often have a chance to watch him without the risk of making Tony feel uncomfortable. And when Tony wasn’t aware of being watched, there was usually some bigger threat to his health or safety, and Steve didn’t have the luxury of just looking. He knew he needed to respect the relationship he _actually_ had with Tony. He forced his mind to shift, moving his attention from the long black eyelashes on Tony’s cheek, to the information he should actually be concerning himself with. The cuts, bruises, and wrinkles on Tony’s face, the steely grey that had spread from his temples all across his head.

 

         Steve knew Tony shouldn't be going out on field missions anymore. He was in phenomenal shape, all things considered, but Steve couldn't help but notice all the slowly building little problems. Tony favored his left knee, his right shoulder, and his left elbow. His hands ached sometimes with what were likely the earliest stages of arthritis. His back wasn't as flexible as it used to be, and Tony had quietly enlarged the print on his display screens. He took longer to heal from injuries. For a regular, normal life, Tony wouldn't have any real problems getting around and getting things done, but he really wasn't fit for direct combat anymore. Which was a problem for a number of reasons. None of which Steve had any solid ideas about how to fix. And, serious as that was, it still wasn’t what he needed to be focusing on right now.

 

         "Tony," he said, just loud enough to try and wake him up. Tony's face screwed up slightly in a sleeping protest to being disturbed. "Tony," he tried again, and this time Tony groggily opened his eyes. He turned his head and slowly focused on Steve.

 

         "Mmph," Tony grunted, pushing himself into a sitting position. "What time is it? How long was I out?"

 

         "It's 1pm, so about 6 hours." Steve was pleased Tony seemed calmer now. Just having laid eyes on Phil seemed to have drained the worst of the frantic energy out of him. Or maybe it was having been able to help his son that had done it. “And before you ask, yes, the work crews are here, upstairs. The others are taking turns keeping an eye on things."

 

         Tony rotated himself into a normal sitting position, facing Steve. "Good. Good. I'll go check on the work before they leave for the day. Where's Phil?"

 

         "Jarvis said he's in the workshop."

 

         Tony nodded a couple of times, settling back with artificial calm, scratching his head distractedly. "So, whats the prognosis, doc?" 

 

         "Prognosis? Tony, you know what the doctors said-"

 

         "I'm not talking about what the doctors said. I got that part.” Tony’s voice was slightly oversharp where Steve’s words skimmed an open wound. “I meant his, you know, ‘mental state’. You led the commandos for years, and let's face it, you do a lot of the shepherding around here, especially back when Banner was around. You keep tabs on everyone's mental state, I know you do."

 

         "I try to keep an eye on how people are doing..."

 

         "Right, so what's the verdict?"

 

         "We _are_ talking about Phil, right?"

 

         That got him a quick glare, but Tony persisted. "So?"

 

         "I'm no mental health expert, Tony"

 

         "But you saw it too, didn't you? How did Phil seem to you this morning?" Tony looked earnest.

 

         "He seemed...pretty centered. Calm." Steve answered. Now he saw where this line of reasoning was going.

 

         "Too calm?" Tony was tapping the arm of his chair now.

 

         "...Yeah. A lot calmer than I would've expected." Steve admitted. He had noticed it. Phil was...well, he was a lot like Tony.

 

         Tony leaned his head back, probabaly trying to get stiffness out of it after napping on the couch for 6 hours. Steve barely noticed having to restrain the urge to reach over and try and relax it for him. “Ok, so...why? I can see several really bad worst-case scenarios playing out here. And I don't like any of them."

 

         "I don't know." Steve admitted. This hadn't been the conversation he'd been planning to have with Tony, but it was one he needed to have, and at least Tony was acting like...well, at least he was paying attention. "It might just not have sunk in yet. Even for a kid as smart as Phil, a big change can take a while."

 

         "But you're not convinced," Tony supplied for him.

 

         "I'm not sure about it, no." Steve could also, all too easily, see how bad this could turn. "I don't trust it."

 

         Tony nodded again. "Ok. Good. You'll keep an eye on it then"

 

         Steve's back straightened. "Me? Tony-"

 

         "You. Why not you? He's _living_ with you.” There was no mistaking the bitterness in Tony’s voice, there. “You’re a..." He gestured vaguely. “ _People person_. You'll be fine." Tony made a move to stand, but Steve cut him off.

 

         "You can't be serious." Which was a dumb thing to say; he knew Tony was being serious. "But you don't mean _just_  me, right?"

 

         "Who else? Thor? Because he's _so_ sharp about this kind of thing. Clint? Tasha? He can dodge both of them, they aren't living with him."

 

         "Pepper-" Steve started

 

         "Do _not_. Tell Pepper about this."

 

         Steve tried to keep his tone nonconfrontational "She _is_ his mom-"

 

         Tony jabbed one finger in Steve's direction "You are _not_ going to go to her now and tell her that her son might..."

 

         Words neither of them wanted to say or hear hung in the air. Tony dropped his hand. "She has enough to worry about right now. We can handle this." And those were words Steve actually wanted to hear. _We_. Tony wasn't abdicating his parental duties to Steve. "We can handle this." Tony repeated.

 

         Steve sat back in his seat. "We might have to get some help later."

 

         "If we have to, we will, but for now let's try and let people get back to normal." Tony did stand now, and Steve joined him. "And Steve? Try to be a little more subtle about it. You’re gonna make him crazy with that hovering. Leave that to Pepper. I know covert ops aren't your specialty, but a little more subtlety would be good." Of course Tony had to end the discussion with a criticism.

 

         Steve just nodded. "You'll back me up though, right? I can't be everywhere."

 

         "Not my specialty, Cap.” Tony countered dismissively, and Steve's disapproval must have shown, because he added, "I'll do my best. Ok? Now, I'm gonna go grab some lunch and harass some construction workers. The sooner I correct whatever they've fucked up, the sooner they can get done."

 

         "Yeah, ok. I'm gonna write up some reports on the lab tech. I'll get them to you. Read them over whenever you have the chance."

 

         Tony nodded his agreement and left. Steve sat back down again, playing over various disastrous ways this could play out. For a low-level threat, that mad professor had managed to threaten a lot.

 

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

Jamie was startled out of his sleep by the sound of someone in his room. He sat bolt upright before remembering that Phil was sharing his room right now. The figure in the mostly dark room froze at Jamie’s movement, which kept Jamie from feeling relief at recognizing it was Phil. Phil wasn’t just getting up for the bathroom. He was sneaking. Jamie leaned over and flicked his bedside lamp on.

 

 

Phil’s guilty look confirmed it. Jamie’s heart sank. So much for Phil trusting him and relying on him. He never used to keep secrets from Jamie. Phil wasn’t even any good at keeping secrets. So whatever Phil was hiding, he was probably going to serious lengths to hide it from him. Jamie just looked at him with what he knew was a mixture of resignation and resentment. He knew he couldn’t fix things for Phil, but he’d thought Phil appreciated Jamie’s efforts more than this, at least. He thought Phil at least trusted him. He’d been asking for Jamie’s help, after all. And Jamie had supplied it, every time. And he’d moved in to Jamie’s room. But maybe that had just been for Tony’s sake after all.

 

 

 

Phil bit his lip, looked over at the door, and looked back at Jamie. His data pad was in one hand. He looked down at it, and typed in some commands. The tablet made no noise. Phil had set it to silent? He walked over to Jamie, tried to kneel down next to the bed, winced, thought better of it, and sat on the bed next to Jamie. He tilted the tablet so Jamie could see the screen. Jamie read over his shoulder.

 

 

 

**ME: Keep your voice down, ok? I don’t want to be overheard, and Steve has crazy good hearing.**

 

 

 

Jamie looked at his brother quizzically, hope starting to build. He nodded. Phil was going to tell Jamie his secret.  Maybe he wasn’t even just doing it because he’d been caught. The tablet was more work than talking, Phil probably just hadn’t gotten around to explaining to Jamie yet, wrapped up in his own head the way he was. Phil flashed him a lopsided, slightly manic smile, and started typing again.

 

 

 

**ME: I’m going to fix everything.**

 

**Maybe.**

 

**I think I can. But you can’t tell anyone. The adults would flip out if they knew, ok?**

 

 

 

Jamie’s brow furrowed. Fix everything? Like…the wall? How the hell was Phil going to sneak out in the middle of the night to fix a wall? That didn’t make any sense. He looked back up at Phil, who was looking at him expectantly.

 

 

 

"What are you going to do?" Jamie whispered, because pop did have exceptional hearing, and Mom tended to sleep lightly.

 

 

 

 **ME: It’s not my ears that are messed up. It’s my auditory nerve.** Phil was looking a little desperate now; the anxiety that had been missing from him in the afternoon plain in the low light. **They make fake ear drums, but not fake nerves, see?**

 

 

 

Jamie scrubbed his eyes with his hand, trying to wake up more thoroughly so that maybe this conversation would start making sense. He looked down at Phil’s words again. He gave up and shook his head. "I don’t get it" he whispered, as his words appeared on the tablet.

 

 

 

 **ME: I know about fixing nerves.** Phil looked up at him again, his expression grave and his eyes wide, waiting to see Jamie’s reaction.

 

 

 

Jamie’s blood ran cold as he came to the sudden understanding of what Phil meant to do. By himself. In the middle of the night, with untested tech. His eyes widened and he stared at Phil. His mind raced, trying to think of how to stop Phil from doing this. He probably couldn’t stop him on his own. He could call for Mom, maybe, or yell at Phil and let anyone who could hear it hear it. But Phil’s steady stare stopped him.

 

 

 

Phil was trusting him with this. Was trusting just Jamie. Phil really did want his hearing back. He wasn’t as indifferent as he’d seemed. Jamie had been right. It was just his hope of regaining his hearing that was keeping him so calm. And now he was entrusting Jamie with that hope.

 

 

 

But this was just so incredibly unsafe. Phil was talking about experimenting on his own brain. That famous Stark brain that was the key to his success, to his future, and to everything that Phil valued.

 

 

 

But, then, that was how badly Phil wanted this.

 

 

 

Jamie exhaled. He nodded. Phil surprised him again by grabbing Jamie into a tight squeeze of a hug before pushing himself up off the bed and into a standing position, wobbling a little. He wasn’t wearing his knee brace right now. He gave Jamie a thankful but still desperate grin, and started to hobble towards the door.

 

 

 

"Phil" Jamie whispered "Don’t actually do anything without backup, ok?" He tried to show his sincerity on his face, to make up for Phil’s inability to hear the seriousness in his voice. Phil looked down at the tablet, then turned back to Jamie and nodded before limping his way out into the hall, presumably up to the workshop. Jamie stared at the door for a few minutes, then lay back down, and flicked off the light. After that, all he could bring himself to do was to stare at the city-lit ceiling, considering all the ways this could go wrong.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Tony was actually feeling human again. Not superhuman, unfortunately, but at least human. One full night’s sleep, even if it was on one of Steve’s rock hard matresses, a shower, and a change of clothes had done him a world of good. He’d even shaved. He’d grab some coffee (he’d missed breakfast) and head down to yell at some construction crews again. To his surprise, Pepper was still in the kitchen, standing at the counter, staring worriedly into middle space. She was back to being fully primped, which was good to see. She looked over when he came in. "Oh, good, there you are. People will be arriving soon.”

 

 

 

Tony glanced at the clock. "The crew should have been here 2 hours ago. You mean they aren’t here yet?" Those assholes. He felt his back stiffen in indignation. He was paying them absurd rates to get this done fast-

 

 

 

"No, no. They got here right on time. I mean the team and the kids." She sighed and tapped on the countertop "Except Phil, who won’t come down from the workshop." She was angry, but felt too guilty to do anything about it, Tony guessed. Pepper continued "The case manager from Disability Services is coming at 11:30 to talk to everyone."

 

 

 

Disability Services. Right. For his “disabled” son. Just the word left a nasty taste in his mouth. Disability. Disabled. No, he couldn’t make that one sit comfortably. It sounded too much like dissasembled, damaged, broken. “Do I have to be there?" He asked before thinking it through. He winced at his own words before Pepper managed to give him a furious dirty look. "Sorry. Yeah. Of course I’ll be there. I wouldn’t want to not be there." Her glare didn’t subside, but it lessened in intensity. "I’ll be there." He assured her again. "Or rather, here? I’m guessing? That’s gonna be cozy. What do you mean Phil won’t come down from the lab?"

 

 

 

"I messaged him about it, and he said he’s going to stay in the lab, working on something." The unspoken accusation that this was Tony’s doing, at a genetic level if nothing else, didn’t need explicit statement. Tony almost offered to go fetch him, but thought better of it. Tony could barely stand to hear Phil be called disabled. What would it like to actually be called disabled?

 

 

 

Nobody had ever dared to refer to Tony’s “condition” as a disability. And it wasn’t. It helped him do superhuman things, so it couldn’t count. Even when it ached. Even if it was a glaring vullnerability. A whole courtroom had laughed when he called it a prosthesis. Even if it provided basically the same end result as a distressingly external pacemaker, keeping his heart fucntional, nobody thought of the reactor as a prosthesis. Except sometimes supervillans. He realized he was picking at the edges of the casing under his shirt, and dropped his hand.

 

 

 

You’d never pull Tony away from a project to go to a meeting where everyone would sit around and talk about his being disabled and needing special help. No way in hell. Pepper hadn’t gone up to the lab to march Phil down to the meeting either, so he was guessing she’d come to a similiar conclusion. Pepper wasn’t shy about giving orders and making sure they were obeyed, particularly with the kids, but even she didn’t want to force Phil to sit through something he would undoubtably find humilliting and depressing. Not right now, at least, and not in front of a stranger.

 

 

 

A stranger. Hmm. "So this is what, like a social worker?" Tony ventured. Pepper nodded tightly. She had already come to the conclusion that was forming in Tony’s mind. Social workers were a hop and a skip from Child Protective Services. And, while Tony felt that Pepper at least did a bang-up job of parenting, and the rest of the crew did at least adequately, he could think of half a dozen things right off the top of his head that someone outside this unusual lifestyle wouldn’t understand- many of them likely already on the radar of Rhodey’s people. Like Alma’s ninja lessons, or the number of super powered weapons laying around in various states of repair all over the workshop, or Signe’s sword collection. Or, for that matter, Signe himself. Exposing your kids to a 1.64 m tall, ice-powered, superstrong alien with anger management issues was bound to look like a questionable parenting act to an outside observer. And, of course, it was Phil’s connection to Tony and the team that had got him injured in the first place. Plus previous less severe injuries, kidnappings...

 

 

 

This was, unfortunately, probably a bad time for a drink. He wasn’t quite that far gone. Sometimes he almost wished he was. The constant act of will it took to maintain business as usual while expecting the chain reaction of loss that Phil’s departure would start was exhausting. There was a constant little temptation to just let it all go to hell now, rather than wait. He shook off that thought. He was not that far gone. He was going to see this through right to the end.

 

 

 

"So, who all is coming to this…meeting?" Tony asked.

 

 

 

Pepper blinked, coming out of her own internal calculations "Hm? Oh. They said to include ‘the family’, so…everyone."

 

 

 

Tony’s eyebrow bounced up "Everyone? As in, everyone, everyone?"

 

 

 

Pepper shrugged, glancing away and spreading her hands out in a somewhat hopeless gesture. "She said on the phone to include all of Phil’s supports. So, that’s everybody who lives in the tower."

 

 

 

Tony ran his hand over his face. "And they’re all coming? The superspies and the aliens and everybody? In front of a government-funded social worker? What, three days after Rhodey comes here questioning our parenting skills on behalf of the military or whoever the hell it was?"

 

 

 

Pepper suppressed a wince, or at least tried "Nobody will cause problems in front of her, I’m sure. And this is Phil’s family. I think it’s…nice that everyone wants to support him right now."

 

 

 

Tony let out a long breath "This is such a bad idea. This is such a stunningly bad idea" He said. "Can’t we just keep it to you and me and Jamie?"

 

 

 

Peppers expression changed to the one she used right before saying something she knew would be badly received.  He braced himself. “Honestly, Tony…" She paused, making up her mind to finish the sentence "I just…don’t think we’re going to be better off giving her more of an opportunity for you two to interact. Some distraction might…help."

 

 

 

Tony jerked back, just slightly, before he could stop himself. Oh. "Ah-hah." He took a few steps back, dropping his head a little in a vain attempt not to let the blow show. She knew exactly what she was doing.

 

 

 

"Tony-" She started, trying to sound reasonable, her voice not quite bordering on apologetic "It’s not-"

 

 

 

Tony didn’t want to hear it "No, no, hey, you think distracting the social worker from my obvious failings as a parent with a 6 foot tall blue violent alien will show her what good parents we are. I get it."

 

 

 

"That’s not what—ugh. Tony."

 

 

 

"No, no. No need to explain. You made your views of my parenting skills perfectly clear two days ago. Apparently saving his life, getting the tower rebuilt at record speed and actually doing something to help him instead of just hovering around doesn’t meet your requirements for ‘good parenting skills’." His voice was rising, and he backed up a few more steps down the hallway, willing, for once, to walk away before saying something he’d regret, but feeling that willingness whittle away before the growing urge to lay into Pepper for this bullshit.

 

 

 

Her voice rose as well, just enough to cut him off and keep him from completing his peacekeeping retreat “Stop it. If I really thought you were a bad parent I would have left with both the boys years ago! And you know damn well that there is no amount of money that would have stopped me. I know every single one of your dirty little secrets, Tony, and if I thought you were bad for Phil, actually bad for him, I could have lined up every single one of them in a custody hearing and got Phil and the tower away from you permanently. And you know perfectly well I could have."

 

 

 

She stopped to take a breath and push some hair away from her face. She wasn’t looking at Tony. She was looking intently at the floor about 3 meters away, just to Tony’s left. "But I didn’t. I have never once tried to keep you away from Phil for any real length of time." She looked up at him now, pinning him where he stood with the same piercing eye’s Jamie had leveled on him the day before. "If I thought you were bad for Phil, I would have left."

 

 

 

Tony took a second to get his balance back, still stung by her earlier statement, and not fully recovered from their fight two days ago. His growing fury from before had been knocked out from under him by the earnestness and directness of her expression. "So? Why not then?” He wondered if she would now. Was she trying to tell him to be thankful she’d stayed around this long? She’d allowed Phil in his life for this long?

 

 

 

She sighed, searching his face for a second. "Because he needs you. And because when you get your head on straight you’re a really good father. Nobody understands him the way you do." She was so sincere, and Tony felt the rest of his anger drain out of him against his will. "Just sometimes, Tony Stark, you are a real ass. Especially when you’re upset, and especially when people are talking about Phil." That didn’t even sting. He didn't even feel bad about it. The restraint he’d shown to Rhodey a few days ago had only happened because Rhodey was a good friend, and an old friend, who had known Phil his whole life. Tony respected Rhodey, although it took more than one bottle of the good stuff to get him to admit it out loud. This social worker was a total stranger, and had no cachet with Tony at all. Keeping himself restrained around her would be much more difficult. Pepper continued, "Just…let your team back you up on this one, ok? They want to."

 

 

 

Tony looked away, trying to look like she wasn’t getting under his skin, and nodded. Everything was getting under his skin this week, taking up the internal space hollowed out by the fear that had been growing the last couple years. He reminded himself again to hold onto this as long as he could, and nodded again. He did want to be out from under her eyes right now though, and the disequilibrium they caused. "We’ll need more chairs, then. I’ll go get some from upstairs." He was able to meet her eyes again now, and gave a tight but honest smile. She returned it, and thanked him.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Phil tapped on his workbench. He hadn’t been making any headway on his work since Mom had messaged him about the social worker coming for a family meeting. A social worker. A Stark with a social worker. Tony Stark’s son, Phillip Potts-Stark, prodigy, with a social worker. Like some welfare case. A social worker who was coming to tell him about all of the ways his life was going to be "different" now. She’d probably discourage him from even trying for MIT. He’d looked it up, and there were deaf colleges. Probably she’d tell him he should hurry and apply to one of those before the deadline was up. And what the hell kind of neuroanatomy research programs would those have? He’d never heard of any of them, so probably nothing spectacular. He hadn’t even, on an admittedly hurried search, found any with an advanced nanorobotics program! Not even one!

 

 

 

So then, what the hell was the point of even _going_ to college?

 

 

 

Maybe she’d try to convince him to take a year off, to "adjust" to his new capabilities. That sounded like Phil’s idea of Hell. A whole year of sitting around thinking of all the ways he was too damaged to do things the way even normal people did things. He’d never even had to think about keeping up with normal people before. He shared a workshop with his dad, a basketball court with Signe, and a training room with Steve (which, ok, he rarely used, but still). He’d had plenty of trouble keeping up with other people before, but never simple, normal people. Other than Jamie he hardly even had to interact with normal people, and even Jamie had an IQ of at least 135.

 

 

 

He knew he was starting to panic. This kind of thinking wasn’t useful. He had to focus on managing exitiation thresholds for such a large nerve during the repair process, but it felt like all of his life goals were slipping right through his fingers. No advanced degrees in neuroanatomy or nanorobotics, no founding a whole new research facility for Stark Industries. Hell, if he even _got_ a job at Stark Industries he would be seen as a pity case who got in on nepotism. No, to hell with that, he’d rather not even work for the company than that. His dad probably wouldn’t even want him to inherit the company at this point. Mom might. God, if he ever started to "overhear" that argument he’d rather smash the tablet than read it. Or just chuck himself off the nearest balcony.

 

 

 

Phil’s hands were sweating. His leg started to bounce in agitation but that sent a lance of pain shooting up his leg, right to the base of his spine. He buckled over the bench for a moment, eyes squeezed shut, waiting for the pain to pass. He had a month’s worth of painkillers prescribed, but they made his head so cloudy.

 

 

 

Unfortunately, not taking them also meant that the swelling was worse than it should have been, and his knee seemed to be getting worse as a result. After a minute or so, the pain went back to a quiet throb he could more readily ignore.

 

 

 

He let his head rest on the cool metal and glass of the worktable, glad that everyone else would be at that damned meeting. He was thankful no-one had tried to force him to attend. That was one mercy, at least. He stared down at his knee, forehead still resting on the workbench. He’d worn loose pants to mask the swelling. When he carefully put one hand on the swollen joint it was hot to the touch.

 

 

 

Fingers touched his back unexpectedly. For the second day in a row he tried to jump to his feet at his workbench, only to have his malfunctioning leg buckle under him. This time, he tried to turn to face the potential threat, and the twisting motion combined with the increased swelling made his vision fade at the edges as he buckled at his waist. The figure behind him rushed forward in a blur and caught him under his arms, keeping him upright. A dozen or so strawberry bubblegum scented little braids hit him across the face, and he steadied himself. Alma looked up at him, checked him for balance, and let go. Her big brown eyes were red-rimmed and puffy, and her forehead was creased with worry. He let out a breath.

 

 

 

Goddamn he hated not knowing when people were sneaking up behind him. Flailing around every time someone interrupted his work was going to end up with him, someone else, or all of his work getting damaged. He glanced behind him, checking, but the table was barely bumped. No harm done. To his work, anyways. His knee was still complaining loudly. More carefully this time, he lowered himself back into a sitting position, facing Alma. What hell Hell was that twerp doing up here? He was supposed to actually be left alone for a little while.

 

 

 

Phil looked Alma over. Her cheeks were wet, and her shoulders were hunched inward, collapsing her down to smaller than her right size. He suddenly felt a little bad for being angry at her. She wasn’t speaking, and looked like she was waiting. Oh, right. Phil managed to reach behind him to pick up the tablet. It very helpfully read **DOOR TO WORKSHOP OPENING** on the screen. He set it down on his good knee. He looked up at her, waiting for whatever new bad news was making her cry. Had she been sent up by the adults to tell him something or to bring him down to the meeting?

 

 

 

Instead of saying anything, she slid her arms around Phil’s neck and buried her face in his shoulder. Oh, crap. How bad was this? He could feel her shuddering just slightly, crying. His panic started to rise again. He put one hand on each of her shoulders, and gently pushed her away just far enough to try to communicate with his face his desire for her to just spit it out already. He looked down at the tablet and let go of one of her shoulders long enough to tap at it, reminding her that he couldn’t even listen to his crying almost-sister without accommodation now. She sniffled again, looking down. She pulled at his arm still on her shoulder, and he let it go. She squeezed his hand, not looking up.

 

 

 

**ALMA: Clint told me I can’t go to the meeting with your social worker because he doesn’t want anyone with the Department of Human Services to know about me. And he didn’t say it but it’s because I’m not even here legally and I’m not a citizen or his kid officially and what if they make me go back to Somalia? And Signe attacked Tony in the elevator the day of the attack and what if she gets in trouble and you’re up here all by yourself and Tony and Steve have been fighting and Signe and Thor were fighting but I guess maybe they made up now but I don’t know and nobody is getting along at all and I just. Just.**

 

 

 

She squeezed his hand again as her face crumpled. She scrubbed at her face with the back of her free hand. Phil set the tablet down on the table, propped up where he could read it with a little craning, and pulled her back into a hug. She immediately released his hand and wrapped both arms around him, squeezing just a bit too hard at the bruises still covering much of his torso under his shirt.

 

 

 

He rubbed her back, letting her cry and trying to absorb the information just presented to him. He felt vaugly ashamed that he’d completely forgotten about Alma’s freakout from a couple of nights ago, and Clint’s total failure to say anything reassuring. It had been upsetting, but less immediately pressing than most of the other things going down lately. But it looked like Phil’s crap had been spilling over onto everyone else, and might end up forcing the issue.

 

 

 

And what the hell was that about Signe attacking dad? dad seemed fine—if Signe had attacked him he’d be pulp. Oddly, that thought was not reassuring. Dad and Steve fighting, that was nothing new, and he’d witnessed Signe and Thor’s fight, at least part of it, but Signe and dad? He looked down at the top of Alma’s quivering head, and decided this wasn’t the time or person to get more information from. He’d try and remember to ask Jamie about it later.

 

 

 

They stayed that way for several minutes. Alma had gotten tall enough now that she had a hard time curling up against Phil the way she had when she was little, but they managed. Phil registered vaguely that this was kind of nice, even if it was for Alma’s sake. Eventually she stopped twitching so much and Phil assumed she had done crying. He patted her back once more, and she uncurled to look at him again. He gave her his best reassuring smile, which didn’t seem to help much.

 

 

 

"Al-" he tried to say, and cut off, startled yet again by his own absent voice. He winced inwardly, and reached back for the tablet, and started typing _Al_ , but a hand at the edge of the tablet stopped him. He looked back up at her, then at the tablet.

 

 

 

**ALMA: Phil, how come you don’t talk anymore? You still can, can’t you? I don’t like that thing talking instead. I want you to talk to me. Can’t you talk anymore?**

 

 

 

Phil cringed. Brat. She always tried to get away with asking for things from people that nobody else would dare to ask for. Nobody else was trying to make him talk.

 

 

 

Ah, but damn it, even with his life fucking falling apart, he couldn’t refuse her when she was this upset. Especially since his crap was part of what was making her upset. He nodded. She looked at him expectantly. He swallowed, hard. He spoke, strangly aware of the sensation in his throat, his mouth. "Al, nobody is going to let anything happen to you, ok? They’d have to deal with the whole team moving to Somalia if they made you leave." There. He wondered if his voice sounded strange from not talking for several days. He’d never gone several days without talking before.

 

 

 

Alma shook her head vehemently, and her lips started moving. **ALMA: Everybody’s fighting now. They wouldn’t all move together. Maybe Clint would and maybe Natasha but everybody else is fighting and I won’t ever see you or Jamie or Ms. Potts or-**

 

 

 

Phil waved a hand to try to slow her down before she got worked up. He tried to get his dry, scratching voicebox started again “You are not moving to fucking Somalia. Cut it out. I won’t let everybody fighting about my shit do that, ok?" God that felt weird. What did it sound like? Godamnit, and she still didn’t look convinced. "Ok, if you move to Somalia, I’ll go to then, ok?" That got a reaction. She gaped at him. He nodded decisively. "If I’m not going to college, I can go wherever the hell I want when I’m 18, which I almost am. I might as well be not hearing people speak Maay instead of not hearing people speak English."

 

 

 

Alma tried to look skeptical **ALMA: You’re bullshitting. You wouldn’t really.**

 

 

 

Phil was offended "I will. Don’t even say I won’t. It’d be better than staying here with everything falling apart." She finally seemed to believe him. Better to live in a third world country than in this tower when things really came apart, especially if it happened because of him being all broken now. Alma nodded, appeased. "So practice your katas or something while I work on this, ok? I’ve got stuff to do."

 

 

 

**ALMA: No martial arts in the workshop.**

 

 

 

Phil rolled his eyes, and turned back to his workbench "Shut up."

 

 

 

He had to get these working. As soon as possible. Before this not only drove him crazy and ruined his life, but ruined anybody else’s life to.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Natasha wondered if the mousy little social worker in front of her was seeing half as much as Natasha was. Poor little Clair seemed to be mainly feeling overwhelmed, and was looking down at her stacks and stacks of pamphlets, rather than the small mob assembled before her.

 

 

 

Natasha scanned the crowd. Tony, doing his damndest to stay chatty and charming through gritted teeth. Pepper, shooting Tony worried warning glances every time Clair mentioned disability or used a coy word for it. She looked so drawn and tired with a fresh coat of laqure armor on her nails. Signe, sitting on the floor with her jaw and shoulders tight, and her back stiffly facing away from Tony. Thor, trying not to notice. Steve, radiating anxiety but keeping a stiff upper lip. Clint, looking like he wanted to bolt every time the skinny thing so much as glanced at him, and keeping one too-watchful eye on Tony and the other on Signe, tipping his hand. Jamie, seated by Signe and looking nauseous and pale, collecting and organizing every scrap of paper with so much as a phone number on it. Phil and Alma, MIA.

 

 

 

She hoped that the girl wasn’t seeing what Natasha was. Distance, resentment, and fear filled up the room, corner to corner. The cracks she’d been seeing for months were widening into ravines. The cracks between the residents of the tower, and the cracks inside them. This was a system breaking down, desperation seeping out into the public eye. For all it’s cracks, she wouldn’t have hesitated to call this damaged collection of people a family just a few scant days ago, but now…well, of course she understood that there were a lot of broken, dysfunctional families in the world. Most of the people in front of her had come from them. But a family like this, with little in the way of legal or genetic connections, it had a fragility to it. The events of the last few days seemed to have hit those weaknesses more than the system or many of it’s members could recover from. This tower had too many big egos, too many weapons, and too many enemies for a family this fractured to survive it.

 

 

 

She’d gotten too comfortable. Too complacent. This whole crazy experiment had lasted so much longer than she’d originally believed was possible. Now, the warnings she’d tried to make back in the beginning about what a bad idea this was were back in the forefront of her mind. How had she let herself forget them?

 

 

 

Bruce had figured it out. That’s why he was gone.

 

 

 

She looked again at the social worker, whose strain was starting to show. Did she see this as a system in the midst of a breakdown? If she did, what would she do with that information? Who would she report it to? She was so ungainly, and not more than five foot two. She wouldn’t be hard to make disappear, before she said the wrong thing to the wrong person to accelerate the breakdown and scatter.

 

 

 

No. She’d be missed. She wasn’t some mercenary or spy. There would be people noticing her absence within hours, and any idiot would think to come here to find out why. Besides, that was bad guy behavior. And bad guy behavior would not help Natasha’s relationships in the tower.

 

 

 

She realized belatedly that she seemed to be planning to stay put and watch this out to the bitter, painful end. Part of her must still believe this could recover. She laughed at herself, internaly. How had she let these people get so close, that she was even tempted to stay to watch them come apart? The smart thing was to run. Get out of here before the walls caved in. Take Clint and…and Alma. Maybe Signe. No, that wasn’t practical. She’d be lucky to manage Alma. Looking at all of the attentive faces around the couch, there wasn’t one she didn’t want to take with her. But that wasn’t realistic. She didn’t even know what she’d do with Clint and Alma. Go back to SHIELD? Alma wouldn’t last like that.

 

 

 

She had money. She could get more. She could get papers and start them over with a new life. She rebelled internally at the idea of effectively retiring, but Clint was no mercenary and really, too old for this shit if they didn’t have the tower security to back them up. Well, life as a normal person was still at least a life.

 

 

 

No, it wasn’t time for this yet. Practical or not, naive or not, she wasn’t ready to turn her back on them. Wasn’t ready to give up on this lost cause. Wasn’t ready to accelerate the process by leaving, herself. For now, she’d stay put, and make all the gestures she could console herself with later when she was missing this and grieving the consequences of the family’s dissolution. It’d be a cold, hollow comfort, but she knew from experience that even the barest scraps of guilt-assuaging memories had value. She’d collect them while she could.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Thor sat, once again, with his legs hanging over the edge of the tower, watching the skyline and the construction workers several floors below him. He was still fairly certain this was unnecessary. But Thor had never minded lookout duty, and it gave him a chance to think while a more discreet group of construction workers, supervised by Signe, repaired the damage to his suite.

 

 

 

He was concerned for Phil’s wellbeing, to be sure. But the woman from Social Services had such a plethora of ways to help him that Thor felt secure that Phil would adapt to his new needs handily.

 

 

 

He should have assumed as much. Midgardians as a whole were so easily damaged. It made sense that they would have among them more permanently wounded, and so would have more adaptations to assist their honored survivors in whatever endeavors they chose. The social worker had assured him that this was indeed the case. He was certain Phil would be flaunting his acquisition of yet another language in no time. A kinetic language of gesture and of hand would suit him well.

 

 

 

He was more concerned with the hostile looks Signe had been shooting at Tony, in front of an outsider no less, and the conversation that he had told Natasha he would have with his daughter.

 

 

 

Everything was at last in the open between them. Well, nearly. The truth of her mother would have to come soon. But the conversation he had been most dreading for 17 years was finally over, with no worse repercussions than some wrecked furniture and carpet. He did not want to spoil it with accusations. Accusations that barely made sense. If Signe had wanted Tony harmed he would be. If Signe had threatened harm Tony would not have calmly sat by her throughout the meeting just now. Surely Natasha had misunderstood the situation?

 

 

 

But then, when had Natasha been wrong about something like this? Less frequently than Thor had been guilty of turning a blind eye to the faults of those he loved, to be sure.

 

 

 

A small, out-of-place figure at the edge of the rebuilding bellow caught Thor’s attention. Jamie, ignored by the various workmen, peered out over the edge of the wreckage down at the street below before turning back to the room, apparently searching for something.

 

 

 

Jamie. Thor considered the young man for a moment. He had long made Thor distinctly uncomfortable. Phil stood to inherit all of Tony’s empire, and the glory that came with being a wealthy technocrat on Midgard. Jamie stood to inherit a legacy he could not hope to maintain. Thor had felt a quiet fear, watching the relationship between the brothers sour over the last few years, as their stations in life became apparent to the boys. He feared Jamie following Loki’s path as much or more than he did Signe, whose faults were more as Thor's own.

 

 

 

Now, though, things seemed to be shifting. With Phil injured and weakened, Jamie had taken up a station beside his brother, supporting him. True, he could not have taken Phil’s position if he tried, but as far as Thor could tell, Jamie had made no move at all to tear Phil down. With his mettle tested, Jamie was proving to be a steadfast, loving and loyal brother. Thor’s long held fears seemed groundless.

 

 

 

Actually, now that Thor thought on it, Signe's near-brother might be just what Thor needed now. He called out down the building. "Jamie! I would speak with you when you have the time!" Jamie startled, looking up in surprise. His frail little lungs were less effective at being heard over several floors of distance, particularly over the noise of the work going on, but he nodded, and held up a finger to indicate he would be a moment. He disappeared from Thor’s view for a few minutes after that. Thor went back to scanning the skyline.

 

 

 

Several minutes later, Jamie appeared, clutching his half-sized guitar, and now wearing a light coat. Jamie was likely the most accommodating of the children, generally eager to do as asked. At least, so he seemed, unless he was organizing covert missions. Thor waved him over, and Jamie sat down beside him, legs over the edge, but one hand on the railing. He looked as tired as the rest of his family.

 

 

 

"Jamie. How are you?" Thor asked. Jamie shrugged, silently peering down at the construction, his mind elsewhere. Thor had a clean napkin left over from having eaten supper recently, and he handed it to Jamie. "For your guitar. For the dust." Jamie took the napkin with thanks, and started studiously wiping down the instrument. He wondered if Jamie was always this quiet, or if he was more quiet around Thor. Perhaps he had noticed Thor’s past unease around him. He felt guilty at the idea. Thor looked out over the skyline. "I do not know whether anyone has had the time to tell you, but you have been an excellent brother to Phil in all of this. You are to be commended for your dedication."

 

 

 

Jamie looked up from the guitar. He seemed genuinely bewildered "Uh. thanks? I haven't really done anything. Tony made the tablet, and Signe and Alma got our stuff for us."

 

 

 

Thor smiled. Modesty was in very short supply in this tower. "I saw you in the meeting. You were very active there, organizing all of the information. You may know what Phil needs better than anyone here. I think Pepper and Tony, although they are excellent parents, are still in shock over the events. They are trying to recover. You are trying to act."

 

 

 

Jamie shook his head, looking back down. "I didn't do anything."

 

 

 

"You gave up your room so Tony could be with Phil. And Signe said that you were very helpful to him while she was there."

 

 

 

Jamie shrugged again, not looking up. Well, it may take him a while to understand. He hoped Phil was making his appreciation known. This sort of loyalty must not be taken for granted.

 

 

 

"It is Signe I wished to discuss with you, however."

 

 

 

"Signe? Why?" He looked at Thor again, his expression one of uncharacteristically open confusion.

 

 

 

"How does she seem to you? Lately, I mean." Thor felt a bit hesitant now, anxious about the answer.

 

 

 

"Is this about the elevator thing? Alma told me, but I wasn't there."

 

 

 

Thor did not like having to be tactful. But he did not want to just ask Jamie if Signe seemed particularly violent or out of control lately. "Partially that, yes. Things have been...stressful for everyone lately. And you are like a brother to her. I was curious how you thought she was doing."

 

 

 

"Why are you asking me, though?" Jamie was hesitating. Perhaps he felt as though he would be betraying Signe’s trust to tell Thor anything.

 

 

 

"Because you are quiet, and you see much of what goes on around you. I value your judgement. And I know that you love Signe and keep her best interests at heart."

 

 

 

Jamie seemed caught off guard at that, but he appeared to take Thor’s sincere compliment to heart this time. "Uh. Well. I think Signe's just...Signe, you know? She- she’s just always been really protective of all of us. Especially me and Phil and Alma." Jamie fiddled with the strings of the guitar, then his fingers stilled and he went quiet. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter yet, and heavy with careful consideration "But Alma sounded really scared when she talked about it. She hates it when anybody here fights, but usually she's not as scared as that. She still looked nervous today." Jamie looked up at Thor with a worried expression “Didn’t you think so?"

 

 

 

"I have not seen Alma today. But Tony seemed unconcerned."

 

 

 

Jamie went quiet and thoughtful again, and looked out over the skyline. "But Tony's kinda used to fighting with people who could kill him one handed. You and Pop and Natasha. I guess he might be used to it." He shrugged and looked down "You should probably talk to Signe about it. But I think maybe he just forgot that Tony isn't like the rest of you. I don't think he'd forget that with someone else. Probabaly. Maybe you should talk to Tony? Only, I guess he's kind-of distracted right now. He was pretty flipped out that day. Tony, I mean. Well, everybody was."

 

 

 

Thor had not considered talking to Tony about it. He honestly was trying to stay out of Tony’s way unless something was requested of him. He wanted Signe to stay away from him as well. He did not quite trust himself not to lash out at Tony if Tony lashed out at his daughter. Normally, he would not worry about it. He and Tony had had many arguments and even fights that shook the rafters. But Tony seemed…brittle, lately. And he wasn’t allowing to Steve or Pepper to distract or calm him anymore. If Thor fought with Tony now, he was not sure he wouldn’t do more damage than Tony could handle.

 

 

 

As Thor thought about it, Tony did tend to lash out at his family when distressed. And Tony was certainly distressed the day the tower was attacked. Natasha had not entered the situation until after it had escalated, so she would not have seen who instigated it. It could well have been Tony. Pain had never made Tony Stark less likely to attack. Not that Tony, unarmed, could do Signe any significant damage. But then, Signe had not actually done any damage to Tony, either, although it was fully within her power.

 

 

 

It seemed worth considering. Signe continuing a fight without actually becoming violent was a very different scenario than Signe being interrupted on the verge of attacking a family member who had no chance of defending himself. The former was a far more comfortable prospect.

 

 

 

He patted Jamie lightly on the back and smiled. "Thank you, Jamie, you have given me much to think about."

 

 

 

"Really? That helped?" Jamie looked skeptical and bordering on amused.

 

 

 

Thor nodded "Yes. That was all I needed."

 

 

 

"Oh. Ok." Jamie got to his feet. "Well, you're welcome."

 

 

 

"Would you do me one additional favor?" Thor asked.

 

 

 

"Sure" Jamie agreed with a shrug.

 

 

 

"Please try to see your loyalty to your brother and sisters as the gift that it is. You do more for them than you understand. I hope they appreciate it."

 

 

 

Jamie wore a small, awkward, almost pained smile now "Heh. Ok. Uhm. Thanks." He waved a small goodbye before turning back towards the entrance to the building. Thor returned his gaze to the horizon, feeling a bit more at peace.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Alma answered Jamie’s call for a kids-only meeting, and offered her apartment to meet in, since Clint was out. She was hoping the boys would talk to Signe about what happened in the elevator. Usually, Alma would do it. But Signe wasn’t listening to her, and she didn’t know why. And none of the adults seemed to be doing anything about it either. Even Natasha or Ms Potts.

 

 

 

Jamie and Phil came down at 8, and Alma was startled by how bad Phil looked. He was limping and sweating a little, and seemed sort of drooped over, even worse than he had been that morning. He still wasn’t wearing his knee brace, either, for some stupid reason she assumed had to do with being male.

 

 

 

Signe arrived a little later—she’d gone right to the gym for hours after the meeting Alma had been locked out of. The meeting that had unsettled Clint so badly. Signe sat down on the sofa, and Alma took a seat on a chair. Jamie stood in the center, ready to start. Phil was looking down at his tablet with a look of intense concentration on his face and didn't even seem to notice anyone. The program on the tablet was some engineering thing instead of the translation software. Jamie looked over at Phil expectantly, but he didn't notice. He gently nudged Phil’s shoulder. Phil looked up at him blearily, switched back to his voice recognition program and settled back in the chair.

 

 

 

Jamie looked about ready to say something to Phil, but changed his mind and turned to Signe and Alma instead. Jamie swallowed. He was nervous. "I didn't want to get your guys' hopes up, so I wasn't going to say anything, but we need your help, and Phil said it would be alright. Phil thinks he can use his neuro-nanites, the ones he was making for Mom, to fix his hearing. But there's no way the adults would let him try it out until it's been tested for like ten years so we're going to help him." Alma stared at Jamie in disbelief, then at Phil. Phil didn’t even seem worried about this. Was he crazy? Had he lost his mind? If he had, putting a bunch of nanites in after it wasn’t going to help.

 

 

 

Signe was the first to speak "This is wonderful! When? What do you need of me? I will do whatever it takes!"

 

 

 

Alma now felt like the last sane person in the room."Isn't that, like, incredibly dangerous?"

 

 

 

Jamie looked shaky, but answered Alma with a steady voice "It's what he wants, Alma." She sat back in her chair, stunned.

 

 

 

Phil’s voice cut in from the speaker on the tablet "The nerve is already shot. There's not that much to risk. If it fails I probably won’t be any worse off than now."

 

 

 

Alma saw Jamie’s wince at "probably", but noticed that he wasn't trying to stop Phil. That made her pause. Jamie was always the one to stop Phil from doing anything really stupid. Maybe Jamie understood this better than she did?

 

 

 

"What can we do to help?" Signe was at the edge of her seat. She seemed to be almost unraveling since the attack on the tower.

 

 

 

Jamie glanced at Phil, then gave a small sigh and turned back to Signe "Phil thinks it'll take about an hour to work. We need to keep Jarvis and the adults away from Phil for that long. All the adults but Mom and Pop keep all sorts of weird hours and come home just whenever, so we’ll do it there. I'm gonna stay with Phil and be his assistant. You two will need to keep everyone else away, ok?"

 

 

 

On closer inspection, both Signe and Jamie looked hesitant about this plan. Jamie kept shifting his weight around and while Signe was leaning forward and promising to help, her eyes were afraid. But, they didn’t seem to be thinking of stopping Phil.

 

 

 

Phil’s tablet piped up again "I accept the risk. It's better than the alternative." Stupid Phil. How could he use a gadget to talk at a time like this?

 

 

 

Signe nodded gravely.

 

 

 

Jamie turned to Alma "I understand if you don’t want to. We can pretend we didn't tell you about this if you want. You won’t get in trouble then. But we could really use your reconnaissance skills."

 

 

 

Phil added "And don't narc on us."

 

 

 

Alma was offended at the last remark and its implied lack of loyalty. "When have I ever? I won’t tell." She said, before fully considering the effects of what she was saying.

 

 

 

She’d just agreed not to tell the adults about Phil’s stupidly dangerous plan. But, well, what would happen if she did tell? A fight. A huge fight. Phil against all the adults. Jamie against the adults. Signe fighting—oh no. Signe fighting. She paused but finished "Ok I'm in. When?"

 

 

 

"He said it's not ready yet..." Jamie started, glancing back at Phil.

 

 

 

Phil didn't look up, but he was busy typing away "A couple weeks at most. I mostly just have to figure out how to keep the excitation threshold steady during the rebuild. Might have to build a neural dampener.” Jamie winced again at "neural dampener" but didn't interrupt. "If I wait any longer than that I might be buried alive under fucking pamphlets." The tablet put a very convincing sneer into it's fake Phil voice.

 

 

 

Signe nodded. "I will do whatever I can for you." Signe vowed. Alma just nodded, mutely, miserably.

 

 

 

"Good. Thanks. I'm gonna get back to the lab now." Phil started to stand as he finished typing, but staggered. Jamie put a hand out to steady him. Phil shook him off. He really looked unwell. He seemed like he needed medical attention. From actual doctors, not tiny robots.

 

 

 

"Phil?" Signe inquired, voice hesitant for the first time.

 

 

 

Phil shook his head, and typed "I just stopped taking the painkillers. They make my head foggy. I'm fine. I will be fine."

 

 

 

Phil hobbled out back to the lab, and Jamie followed him, muttering about Phil not having even looked at the pamphlets. This left Alma and Signe in the living room alone. Signe took a deep breath and looked at Alma, leaning her head back on the back of the couch. "Sounds promising" She said, trying and failing to sound confident.

 

 

 

"Uh-huh." Alma said, toying with the edge of her armrest. She looked back up at Signe "Sig, would you move to Somalia with me?"

 

 

 

Signe was startled by the sudden change of subject. "Somalia? What? Why would you want to go there?"

 

 

 

"I wouldn't. But Clint said that I really am undocumented, and today he didn't want the social worker to see me and nobody ever said that the government wasn't still watching us just because of what happened to Phil. I could get kicked out. And you're almost 18...in a few months you will be, anyways. You could come to."

 

 

 

"Alma, we wouldn't let you get deported. And if you were, everyone would go with you."

 

 

 

"That's what Phil said. But you’re both wrong. It isn't like that anymore. Everybody is fighting. It's not like it used to be. You wouldn't have done that to Tony, before." Jamie wouldn’t have kept a secret like this, before.

 

 

 

Signe's jaw tightened. "Mmph. He’s never so blatantly deserved it before. He’s a drunk and an inattentive father. ”

 

 

 

“He was trying to help. He was working on the tower!”

 

 

 

Signe rolled her eyes, which Alma thought was pretty ballsy, considering. “He was avoiding Phil and Ms. Potts in their hour of need. He’s a drunk, Alma. He doesn’t deserve or protect what he’s got.”

 

 

 

“That’s not up to you.” Alma snapped back. She stood up, her hands in fists. "I'm gonna finish my math work now. Excuse me." and she stalked out of the room. Signe sat, stunned, as Alma closed the bedroom door behind her.

 

 

 

She leaned against the shut door, face in her hands. What had she just agreed to do?

 


	7. Chapter 7

Tony was _exactly_ the right amount of drunk. Enough to blunt the edges of absolutely everything, but with just enough sobriety left to move around without injuring himself. Everything was so much simpler like this. The big, crashing emotions that threatened to crush him if he approached them sober were as liquid and fuzzy as everything else. He _could_ approach them, like this. He could bear to think the thoughts that his more brittle sober self would be shattered by. They would still hurt, sure, but he was too saturated with this evenings liquid selections to be able to shatter.

 

People thought he drank to escape. It wasn’t true. He partied to escape, or at least he had, back in his party days. But that was drinking + human distraction + safely meaningless approximation of actual relationships. Now that, _that_ had been a fantastic escape. Well worth the hangover. But drinking alone? That wasn’t an escape. That was a safety net. The liquid courage to help him think things that terrified him but didn’t offer the same saving-the-world urgency that let him cram his terror down and get shit done.

 

Tonight, like most other nights in the last several weeks, he was processing what had happened to Phil. This particular evening, he’d moved on to a simmering rage. At himself, at professor Lezanski, at Steve and Pepper too because, what the hell, why not. At Rhodey because he kept calling but Tony couldn’t bring himself to answer or even listen to the voicemail because Phil was working on the nanites people had been fussing about and Tony couldn’t possibly have stolen that from him and if Rhodey objected Tony didn’t think he could stand to hear that. As a late night venue he’d chosen Bruce’s apartment for being absolutely likely not to receive any visitors with judging eyes. 

 

It was an interesting locale. He’d kept it clean – well, he’d assigned the appropriate robotic services to do so. Bruce had left so fast everything that wasn’t Alma’s was exactly where he’d left it. There were dishes in the drying rack still. It was like those Pompeii museum shows – everything frozen in that last moment when the world had caved in. Except Bruce, the appropriate resident of the place, wasn’t the one buried here. Wasn’t here at all. Tony was here.

 

Bruce. Fucking Bruce. While he was being angry, he might as well be angry at Bruce. Stupid Bruce. Making Tony keep secrets. Keep secrets from people who loved Bruce. Phil loved Bruce. Steve loved Bruce. Tony loved Bruce. Everybody loved Bruce but it didn’t matter because he was gone. Another person to teach Tony that love wasn’t enough to ensure loyalty. Wasn’t enough to make someone stay. And to teach Tony that just because someone left him didn’t mean Tony could let go.

 

“Jarvis, how long since my last clandestine call?” He only slurred a little, he was sure. 

 

“40 days, sir.”

 

40 days. Not long enough, really. Tony tried to restrict himself to calling once per quarter. Bruce had left, had put distance between them. If Tony chased him too hard, he might stop answering altogether. Worse, he might stop answering Alma. He’d been so mad at Tony for breaking their secret pact. 

 

But what was liquid courage for if not for helping you make the kind of reckless but right decisions that sometimes needed to be made? “What’s the status on Banners phone?”

 

“The most recent number has been deactivated.”

 

Tony sat up. Work. Yes. “Ok buddy, lets play ‘find the prodigal’.”

 

And they did. Tony and Jarvis always found Bruce. No matter how many international boarders or how many discarded pay-as-you-go phones happened between boarders, they found him. It was an incredibly sophisticated tracking system involving the tracking of gamma radiation, cross-referencing illegally acquired data about phone purchases, and a system of satellites that were designed for other purposes. Absolutely overkill for stalking someone who’d left you, but nonetheless Tony couldn’t imagine not doing it.

 

They found him. J put him through. It clicked over to a generic voicemail system in Spanish. 

 

Tony stared up at Bruce’s bookshelf for a minute, thinking. What did he want to say to Bruce again?

 

“Bruce, you’re a jackass. A grade A fuckup. You are the lowest of the low, and you wanna know why? Because you left. And you left Phil. And he needs you right now and you aren’t here and I can’t… I’m his dad. I’m the reason he’s mixed up in all this. He has every right in the world to hate me. But he’s classy like his mom sometimes and he hasn’t even said it and I don’t know, maybe that’s just him being more adult now but he hasn’t said it but he hasn’t… he doesn’t even seem to want anything from me and I can’t… can you believe I haven’t even been able to hug him yet? Not since before the attack. I don’t even know how much before. He could have died and he’s got a fucking _disability_ now and he hasn’t… he doesn’t need me. Doesn’t want me. When he was little I could…Bruce my son has a _disability._ What the hell am I supposed to do with that? And when he doesn’t even need me? But if you were here… you never really wanted to be part of…to deal with the Avengers either. And you’re not the reason he’s… he could talk to you. He’s not talking to Steve. He always liked you. You’re like his uncle because you were my…You should be here, Bruce.”

 

Tony laid back down on the couch. J would make sure the message wasn’t cut off. Tony could talk for hours and J would make sure every syllable was delivered safe and sound. “Are you even gonna listen to this whole thing? Maybe you’ll get pissed right when I called you a fuckup and delete the message. Maybe you’re even there now and just not picking up because you know it’s me…and the hit on the tower made world news I know it did but you haven’t called. Are we too broken for you now, huh? Cut the final tie? I swear to God, Bruce, if you don’t pick up for Alma I will fly down there. I don’t give a damn about what you want then I will fuckin’ find a way to kidnap you. She still loves you. After what a fuckup you are she still loves you and I am not gonna let you shit on that. I would have taken her if Clint hadn’t beat me to it. I would have. I don’t care that I don’t deserve her. Neither did you. I didn’t deserve Phil but I kept him. I kept him for almost 18 years. Kept all of them. Except you. That’s pretty good, for me.”

 

He took another drink. Slow, smoky burn gave the illusion of clearing his head. “No, you know what? You _don’t_ deserve her. I’m not giving her your new number until…until… fuck I don’t know. Until you deserve it. Knock back a couple, find your balls and man up. Stop making me chase you. I’m so tired of…” he took another, longer drink. “Chasing people who don’t…” another drink. He lapsed into silence. 

 

“You should have been here, Bruce.”

 

He leaned his head back against the arm rest of the sofa. He didn’t disconnect the call. He poured another glass and took it as a shot. No more time for courage and processing. Now it was time for sleep. Bruce probably wouldn’t be able to hear the tinkling of the glass and ice cubes anyways, and even if he did, who was he to look down on Tony? Bruce had pussied out before the end. Tony had at least stayed. Would keep staying. That had to be worth something, right? It had to.

 

He finally fell asleep on Bruce couch, call still connected – his opportunity to speak to someone with no right to judge him. Someone who he could at least imagine was listening sympathetically. Someone who he couldn’t scare away because they had already left. 

 

* * *

 

Steve was feeling off balance. He looked in the bathroom mirror again, double checking, just to be sure. He reached up to his hairline, separating the stark white strand out away from the rest. It was the first one he'd seen. Figured it would be now. He wondered if there were more, somewhere on his head where he wouldn't see them.

Steve was 47 years old, and he'd never had a grey hair before now. He blinked at the mirror again. He'd looked like this—almost exactly like this, for so long now. He hadn't had to alter his image of what he looked like since he got used to the effects of the serum.

But he'd been looking for this. Waiting for it. This proved that he _was_ ageing. Slowly, ok, but he was ageing. He leaned in to the mirror, squinting, trying to decide whether he really was starting to get crows feet, like he'd been trying to tell himself he was.

He shook his head, leaning back. Of all the stupid things to be preoccupied with. Tony would laugh him out of town if he knew how desperately Steve had been watching, waiting for this.

That little white hair told him that he was still mortal. Still part of the human race.

He didn't want to be immortal. Maybe he should. He did a lot of good in the world, and he was proud of his contributions. Wanting to age out of being able to help felt selfish. But it wasn't as if he didn't want to help anymore. He just couldn't stand the thought of losing generation after generation and having to keep going. Because he couldn't ever quit. No matter how long he lived he'd always have to do whatever he was capable of. And he'd work to make sure he was capable of as much as possible.

Yeah, it probably was selfish to want to get old. But every time he looked at Tony or Pepper or Clint, saw the little things piling up, little proofs of their mortality, Steve felt so _alone._ Which wasn't fair. There was Nat and there was Thor, ageing as slowly or more slowly than he was. But Thor wasn't human, and some day he'd go back to Asgard. And Signe was a kid, and decades away from these kinds of thoughts, if she ever had them. He’d never been able to bring himself to ask Natasha about how she felt about aging so slowly. Maybe she was fine with it. Maybe it was just Steve who didn't feel properly human looking like this at his age.

He stepped out of the bathroom into the hall. For the first time in the two weeks since the attack, Steve was alone in his apartment. Pepper was working, Phil was in the workshop, and Jamie was studying with the girls. He hadn't seen Tony in several days, despite Phil’s having vacated his room for him. So, that was Steve's next stop. He made his way up to the workshop.

 

Steve entered the workshop to a barrage of noise. Tony’s normally eardrum-splitting music had gone to whole new levels, and was layered over the noise of various machinist tools as Tony and his various bots worked. Steve looked over at Phil’s workbench, but the boy seemed unaware of the cacophony. He was hunched low over his workbench, lost in his task. Steve felt a little embarrassed for the thought, but it was just hard to imagine that anyone could not hear this. It rattled his sternum. He felt guilt twist his stomach again, and took a deep breath.

 

Tony was on the other side of the workshop doing what he would doubtless describe as a little light welding. Steve really hoped Tony had just been sleeping on the workshop couch, and wasn't welding after staying up for three days.

 

Steve maneuvered around to try to get in Tony’s line of sight without getting in the way, and waited. Tony finished working on whatever it was he was welding for the moment, and flipped up the mask. Steve was relived to see that while Tony looked tired and scruffy, he didn't look three-days-without-sleep scruffy. He did seem like he might be hung over, which Steve prayed was not evidence of drunken welding.

Steve pitched his voice loud over the racket "Can we talk?"

 

"Jarvis, turn down the music." Tony said, words nearly drowned out by the sound. The music abruptly lessened. "Need something, Cap?"

 

"Maybe we can talk in private?" Steve suggested, with a glance at Phil. He didn’t see the translating tablet anywhere, but unlike sound, it’s typed words would likely still be available for Phil to review later, when he was less absorbed in work. Tony also glanced at Phil, then nodded.

Steve followed Tony into the elevator and down to… Bruce’s apartment. Tony caught Steve’s look of confusion, "No construction workers, no kids, and no employees. Not a lot of places around here that reliably fit that description right now." The door opened for Tony, and Steve followed him in.

 

"This where you’ve been hiding out, then?" Steve asked, glancing around the room and noticing all the tiny changes from the usual static mausoleum of Bruce’s apartment. A cup on the counter, a small stack of clothes on a chest by the door. A lingering smell of scotch. Tony was keeping himself unusually tidy in Bruce’s vacated space. Steve guessed that he must be feeling some of the same discomfort Steve did at invading the space Bruce had left behind, for all that it didn’t seem Bruce would ever be back to reclaim it. No-one had ever challenged the assumption that the place would be kept for him, just in case. In case this was only a separation, not the first person he'd lost while they were still alive, and out there in the world, vulnerable on their own. 

He shook himself out of that line of thought as Tony sat gingerly on the couch. "Yeah. Needed a little space from the sardine can. Place gets a little cozy at five occupants. So, whaddaya need?"

 

Steve tapped down a few upsettingly raw potential responses. He felt so useless right now. "Ah, just checking in. Seeing how you and Phil are doing. Don’t see him much." For all that Tony had tried to assign Steve to keep an eye on Phil, Phil spent a lot more time up in Tony’s domain than in Steve’s home. "How’s he doing?"

 

"Well, he’s, y’know, miserable. But at least he’s working." Tony stretched his arms out along the back of the couch, at least a little more comfortable in Bruce's space than Steve was. Yeah, Phil was working. And Phil was Pepper and Tony’s son to the bone. If he was working, he still cared about something. He had goals to work towards. That was a good sign. Steve nodded, searching for safe questions to follow up with, wanting to keep the exchange going. "What’s he working on?"

 

"No idea." Tony responded with unapologetic promptness, looking up at Steve from the couch. "But it’s keeping him busy. That’s good enough for me."

 

Steve nodded again. It didn’t really matter. Unless—"Has he still got…I know you and Pepper asked him to back off the nanites for a while…"

 

Tony’s jaw worked in that way it did when Tony was actually taking care with his words. "If working on nanites that could help Pepper makes him feel better, I’m not gonna touch it. They could both use a little cheering up." Tony’s voice held less challenge than Steve would have expected. He expected Steve to understand.

 

Steve took a deep breath, as he sat down in the armchair by the sofa. This was working. At least, it almost was. If this kept Phil from feeling adrift in the world, so be it. They would worry about the other worrying potential consequences a little later. "Yeah. Maybe we could encourage him to rest a little more though? Get a little more food? He’s looking pretty thin."

 

Tony nodded, a little tension draining out of him. “Right. See what I can do."

 

Steve wouldn’t let his being off balance show through here. Not now. He wouldn’t make anyone worry about him in all this – if they were inclined to anyways. He wouldn’t show how bad he wanted to keep them all close where he could keep a watchful eye and a steady hand on them. Wouldn’t ask Tony to come back to Steve’s apartment, if he needed space. “Maybe you two could come down for dinner tonight? It’s spare ribs. I have enough."

 

Tony nodded again, pulling his arms down off the back of the couch and leaning on the arm rest. Dinner at least, then. That was something.

It was time to ask the more dangerous question. "What about you? How are you doing?" Steve remembered when he could ask that question without expecting to be snapped at or brushed off, back before he’d done whatever he’d done to make Tony shut him out.

 

He watched Tony’s muted expressions flicker across his face as he decided how to respond. "If Phil’s ok, I’m ok." He answered eventually. He could hear Tony trying to believe it. Steve didn’t know what to say to that. Phil was coping. What could the rest of them do but try to keep up, and offer what support they could?

 

Steve nodded. They’d all been waiting for the breakdown, but two weeks in and Phil was keeping his head down and his hands busy. Coping in the most productive way he could find. “It’s kind of amazing. I mean, handling it as well as he is. It’s more than I could do."

 

Tony smiled. It was genuine, but not entirely pleased. "Too bad he wouldn’t believe you if you told him that. He’d probably like to think so."

 

Steve sighed, shaking his head. "I don’t know why he'd doubt it. He knows my history." After all, Steve had let himself be a lab rat, rather than be too weak to serve. He didn't know how he would have coped with a disability. The asthma had been close, back before inhalers. Had made it difficult to get by in everyday life. But even that, Steve had managed to get wiped away. He wondered if Phil would resent him now too, the way Jamie did. Maybe that was why he ignored Steve at every possibility. Steve had grown up always knowing he had limits. Not Phil. Up until now Phil had approached life with that endless Stark swagger that dared the world to try to limit him. But, even now, when those limits had finally come, ending Phil’s innocent trust in his own invulnerability, he was getting by. He was getting up and getting back to work. 

 

Tony smirked, looking down at the coffee table. He was quiet for a minute, his smirk fading as he thought. "How’s Pepper?"

 

Steve leaned back in the chair. Well, Tony was thinking about other people. That was a good sign. He wished he had better news to share. "She’s Pepper. She’s, y’know. She’s coping. Trying to make things normal, I guess." Because Pepper also knew how to get up and keep going when she was hurting. 

But Steve hated to see what was happening to Pepper. She wouldn’t allow herself the kind of self-neglect that Tony and Phil did. She got up and back to work and slept normally, ate normally, and was as perfectly dressed and efficient as ever. She never complained, at least not to Steve. She would take care of the company, of Jamie, of the building, and whatever else she needed to watch over until Tony and Phil were back on their feet. It looked exhausting.

He watched her try, over and over, to reach out to Phil, but Phil seemed to walk around in a haze of scientific thoughts and laser-like focus and wouldn’t let her in. It seemed like Jamie was the only one Phil allowed around him for any length of time, outside of his shared space in the workshop with Tony. But even there, it hadn't looked like Phil was paying any attention to his father. Steve kicked himself internally for taking Phil’s distance personally.

 

Still, Steve was shut out. There really didn't seem to be anyone wanting anything from him. Or offering anything to him, at least on a familial level. He thought, more than a little bitterly, that maybe he should be worried about aging. Nobody seemed to need Steve Rogers anymore. If he stopped being able to be Captain America, what would be left? He pushed that thought away. He had no right to be thinking about himself or expecting the others’ attention under circumstances like these. His feelings about what was happening were not the important ones here.

Still, it hurt. He wished he and Tony could be like they used to be. Now Steve didn't know who to talk to. Jamie, Pepper, Tony, Phil… now even Natasha and Clint seemed distant, and Thor seemed to be outright avoiding him. Even Signe and Alma stayed away. He couldn’t do anything for any of them, and it didn't seem like anyone wanted him to.

 

Steve was startled out of his thoughts when Tony stood and stretched. He was startled again when Tony patted him casually on the shoulder – the first contact anyone had offered him since a brief hug for Pepper at the hospital. "I think it’s gonna be alright," he said, looking down at Steve with another attempted smile. Steve realized that his face must have given him away. He tried to put on something more neutral, and smiled back.

He got to his feet, and returned Tony’s contact in kind, without saying anything and refusing to let it linger. They left Bruce’s apartment—Tony going back to the lab, and Steve going back to his own currently empty unit. He tried to convince himself that everything would be fine. Just because he couldn’t help anyone didn’t mean they wouldn’t be fine. It just meant they didn’t need him. But that was ok, really. As long as they were all right in the end.

 

***

 

Phil rummaged through Steve’s kitchen, looking for a snack of some kind. His stash upstairs had dwindled slowly over the last few days. He didn’t want to bother with a whole meal – just something he could eat one handed while working. A flicker on his tablet caught his eye.

 

**MOM: Phil.** Phil turned to look around. Sure enough, there was mom, just at the threshold of the kitchen. Phil glanced at the clock—it was later than he’d realized. 4pm. She sometimes got home this early, on very good or very bad days. He spared her a tight smile and waved a beef jerky stick in greeting, then turned back to the cupboard before he could see that awful, watery, sad smile he’d seen on her so much lately. He really, _really_ hated that smile. He’d seen it on her now and then over his life. When he was little it had still been reassuring. Now he was older it was less so. And now that he knew the sad underpinnings of the smile were because of him he couldn’t even stand to look at it.

 

He’d been afraid, at first, that he would see pity on the faces of those closest to him. While he did occasionally see that, the reality was much worse. Most of the looks he got, especially from mom and Steve, weren’t pity. They were sadness. Genuine, personal, sadness. Grief, even. Because they were hurting because of how he was now.

The tablet flickered again **MOM: I got home a little early. How's your day been?** Ugh, couldn’t she see he had his hands full? How was he supposed to answer her? Not like he wanted to make small talk anyways. He kept his attention in the cupboard, pretending not to have seen the tablet. He didn’t want to look at her. But he couldn’t stay with his head in a cupboard forever.

 

With a sigh he hoped was silent, he closed the cupboard and turned to look at her. She had waited patiently for him to turn around. He wondered if the social worker had emphasized how they all should be patient with him. He didn’t remember people being patient with him before. He didn’t like it. Now even that sad smile was gone, replaced by overt concern. Her hand came up, and before he could stop it, was against his forehead in a quintessentially maternal gesture. Her frown deepened.

 

**MOM: Are you ok? Phil, you look awful. You’re really pale. Haven’t you been sleeping alright? Are the painkillers not working right?** Phil tried not to flinch away from the contact. He knew he looked bad. He knew he was pale and needed a haircut and had some pathetic and patchy facial hair coming in visibly. That was part of the reason he stayed up in the workshop so much. Tony wouldn’t notice or worry about it. Mom would. Steve would. Natasha would, if she was ever around these days. If Clint or Thor had noticed, they hadn’t said anything to him.

 

Other guys mostly had moms shorter than them, by his age. But Phil’s mom was just about as tall as he was, which left him nowhere to look but at her face without giving away that he was avoiding looking at her. He tried to keep his expression steady, but felt a lump form in his a throat.

 

Because it was almost time. He was almost ready. And Steve wouldn’t be around tomorrow, which left the Rogers’ apartment ready for use as Phil’s personal laboratory. And, if that went badly, Phil might, just possibly, die.

 

He hadn’t thought so at first. When he started he estimated a worst case scenario of nothing happening. Now he wasn’t so sure. If the neuroinhibitor malfunctioned or the nanites set off unwanted static charges, he could have a seizure long enough to kill him. He could die, suffocated from his own body’s inability to figure out how to inhale. If that happened, he’d never know it. He’d just go into a seizure and never wake up.

But she would know it. She’d know that he died by his own invention, while she was at work.

 

Phil tried to refocus, he didn't want to think about it, but her worried eyes wouldn’t let him forget it. She would be so hurt. So heartbroken. And he would be dead. He felt his heart pounding in his chest.

 

Was this worth it? Before, he hadn’t thought he was risking anything. Now he was risking his life and his mom’s heart. Tony, he’d get over it if Phil died. And Phil honestly didn’t think anything could take Jamie down. He was a wuss sometimes, but nothing ever kept him down for very long. Signe would understand, and so would Steve. He was sure most of the team would understand, really. And Alma was used to loss. But his mom. She wasn’t a superhero or a refugee or anything. Her parents had died perfectly normal deaths at old ages.

 

He realized he was just standing there without doing anything. And there was that sad, afraid look on her face again. His chest constricted tighter. Was this better? She was already miserable. Everyone was miserable. Because of his stupid auditory nerve. The whole fucking tower was pivoting around his stupid auditory nerve. And it sounded like his crap was taking everyone else down with him. The whole family was breaking apart because Phil couldn’t fucking hear.

 

He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t sit at the center of that explosion and watch the blast radius tear apart everyone he cared about. If he died, the fallout would be just as bad or worse than this, but at least he wouldn’t have to see it. It was the coward’s way out, and he knew it. He’d tried to convince himself that everyone would be better off without him the way he was now. But it hadn’t worked. If he died, it would hurt them all. They might understand, but they would get hurt.

 

But at least he wouldn’t have to see it. Wouldn’t have to be around for the slow dissolution of a family, watching the already fragile relationships slowly come apart for no goddamn reason.

 

Phil didn’t know why this was happening. But somewhere along the way the family had started coming apart. He’d hoped to be at college during the final agonizing days of his family's dissolution. Instead he was at the center of it, watching it’s acceleration, with no way out.

 

Well, with two ways out. And one or the other would happen tomorrow.

 

He realized belatedly that mom was still talking to him. Her hand was on his arm, and she was trying to get him to do something. He let himself be led to the couch, not bothering to look at the tablet. He could guess what she was saying—she was fussing over him. She sat him down, and went back to the kitchen. Looked like she was still talking. She came back with a banana. Hm. Potassium. Probably best to have slightly low electrolytes for the procedure tomorrow. But he couldn’t argue with her like this. When had she started to seem so helpless? He ate the banana and drank the vitamin water she brought him. She’d stopped talking now, realizing that Phil wasn’t looking at the tablet. There were tears in her eyes. He looked down at the couch.

 

He was either going to make her tears stop, or free himself from having to look at them.

 

* * *

 

The next morning, Jamie woke up wanting to vomit. He hadn’t slept well all night. He kept looking over at Phil, who was somehow fast asleep despite what was coming. He’d been a mass of nerves most of yesterday as well. He’d almost blurted out Phil’s plans at least half a dozen times over diner, just so that someone else would stop them. He didn’t want to do this. He didn’t understand it and he wasn’t a nurse and Phil wasn’t a doctor and this wasn’t researched or anything. Jamie knew that Phil had pointed out that if it didn’t work Phil wouldn’t be any worse off. But it didn’t sit right.

 

But if he refused to help, he was sure Signe would take his place. And Signe was as brash as Phil. Why were all the smart people he knew so stupid? If he told on Phil, and the adults stopped him, Phil would never speak to him again. And when he turned 18 in a couple of weeks he could just go try again. Maybe without any backup this time.

 

So Jamie kept quiet. He was good at being quiet. He was also usually good at talking Phil out of things, but Phil just wanted this so badly. As mom and pop had left for the day, they’d each asked Jamie to keep an eye on Phil, since he wasn’t rested and didn’t feel well. Both times Jamie had almost told Phil’s secret. But he hadn’t. And now Jamie was alone with Phil in the apartment. Signe and Alma would be down soon. Then they would start. Signe and Alma would make sure no adults entered until the whole thing was over. Jamie would stay by Phil and follow Phil’s instructions.

 

Alma showed up, then Signe. He had hoped that Alma would tell, but it looked like she hadn’t. They both looked freaked out. Phil though, he looked the worst. He was already getting too thin and too pale, but today his jaw was clenched and his pupils were drawn down to the tiniest pinpricks. He was terrified. He kept bouncing his bad leg, fidgeting, and flexing and stretching his hands.

 

How had none of the adults noticed this? Why hadn’t they stopped them? Why had they left Jamie to deal with this with no backup?

 

He looked at Signe and Alma. Well, he had backup. And Alma would side with him if he wanted to tell the adults, wouldn’t she? But Signe wouldn’t. And without Signe backing him up in trying to stop Phil, Alma probably wouldn’t do much.

 

Thor’s words echoed in his mind. Jamie was a loyal brother. He stood by Phil. Phil needed him now. And Jamie respected Phil enough to choose what it was he needed, even if what he wanted was making it hard for Jamie to breathe.

 

Signe and Alma took up their posts outside with subdued "good luck"s. Both of them looked over their shoulders as the door closed, and Jamie wondered if they were hoping he would stop this. He still didn't. Alma checked in over the com moments later, in position in her room with her headphones on. She'd monitor the halls to make sure none of the adults showed up unexpectedly. Signe checked in too, just outside in the hall, ready to intercept and distract any adult that might show up.

Jamie followed Phil into their currently shared bedroom. Phil finished setting up the display screen clamped to the dresser, stretching out on a metal arm over the bed, so Phil could read it and see the displays while laying down. He sat on the bed and looked at Jamie.

Jamie was startled to hear Phil’s voice—raspy and unused, actually coming from Phil instead of the tablet. He had a test tube with a little grey dust in it in his hand. "Your part is pretty simple. If everything works perfectly, you wont even have to do anything. You’re the failsafe. You just turn on the neural inhibitor if I tell you to or turn it off if I black out. Because for some parts of this it has to be on, and for some parts it has to be off. But if it’s off or on at the wrong time that… well, that’s bad. This should all be automated, but just in case," He pointed at the screen "that’s the button" he pointed at a small device held to the back of his head with medical tape "that’s the inhibitor. It keeps the nanites from getting fried. It’s ok, it’s only supposed to target the major auditory nerve." Phil looked at Jamie, checking for understanding before going on, pointing at a timer in the tablet interface. "And, if I start to have a seizure you need to notice it right away and time it—“

 

Wait, what? Jamie grabbed Phil’s arm to get his attention. Nobody had said anything about seizures. He gave Phil an incredulous look to communicate his need for Phil to have been kidding about that. Phil gave him a look that would have been contemptuous if he didn’t also still look so scared, and shook him off. "Seizures aren’t inherently dangerous, as long as they don’t last too long. If I have a seizure that lasts more than four and a half minutes, just hit the kill switch here. That will turn off all the nanites at once. And make sure I don’t choke on my own vomit or anything" Jamie’s head was spinning. He thought again of calling for help from one of the adults. Phil caught his arm and looked Jamie in the eye. The intensity of his expression scared Jamie.

 

"Jamie, whatever happens. I wanted this, ok? I chose it. It’s _my_ _choice_."

 

Jamie nodded mutely. This was happening. This was really happening.

 

Phil lay down on the bed on his side, facing Jamie. He tipped the tiny vial of grey powder into his ear, and followed it up with a few drops of a clear liquid. He pulled the screen down in front of his face. Jamie sat on the floor just next to the bed, where he could watch Phil’s face for signs of trouble.

 

Phil was chewing his lower lip, staring at the screen, looking for some pattern or indicator Jamie wouldn’t understand. For a few minutes, nothing happened. Jamie started to hope that the nanites were totally nonfunctional. Maybe Phil could try again later, with more testing, and someone better to help him than Jamie.

 

Slowly, Phil’s expression started to change. First, it looked like he was in pain. Then a driven, immutable focus took over. He started pushing buttons on the screen. He was breathing hard, and starting to sweat. His hands were shaking, just slightly. He’d push a few buttons, and wait. Then bush some more buttons, and wait, reading the graphics display in front of him.

 

Suddenly, his whole body jerked, arching backwards, and he made a small, strangled noise. Jamie got up on his knees, reaching for him, trying to see what was wrong.

 

"No!" Phil gurgled, pushing himself back into his previous position "It’s fine. Just a couple went stray. It’s fine." He did not sound fine. His teeth were gritted and his hands were twitching strangely. He reached for the screen, but his hand jerked off course and hit a different part of the touchscreen. "No. Blue button. Hit the-“ Jamie rushed to obey, hitting the blue button Phil has just been reaching for. Phil reached for the display screen again. His breathing was heavily labored. This didn’t look right. A nerve for hearing shouldn’t do this.

He hit another series of buttons, and watched the screen. Then more buttons, and more watching. His hands were still shaking, but not jerking anymore. Jamie settled back onto his feet again, staring at Phil as hard as he could, as if watching him hard enough could protect him. According to the old fashioned clock they had instead of Jarvis in this room, this continued for an agonizing 20 minutes. Phil staring, sweating, twitching, and punching buttons on the screen. He barely seemed to be blinking.

 

The twitching seemed to be getting worse. His leg spasmed a couple times, but he didn’t say anything further to Jamie. Didn’t even still seem to remember that Jamie was there. He was sweating badly now, as was Jamie, who was trying not to think about throwing up. He couldn’t throw up. He had to watch Phil. Phil’s breathing was labored. Jamie couldn’t be sure if that was an effect of the procedure or just plain fear and exertion. Jamie wasn't breathing so well, either, and the sound of the two of them, struggling for oxygen was only making things worse for Jamie.

 

Then, reaching for the screen, Phil’s hand froze. Jamie looked back to Phil’s face. His eyes were rolled back in his head and partly closed. His whole body spasmed and constricted, arching Phil’s back up, his arms rigid. A seizure. Jamie’s heart stopped.

 

He grabbed the screen to turn it off. To use the kill switch.

 

But Phil had said not to. To time it. How long had it been so far? A second? An hour? Was it already too late? Jamie swallowed, hard. No, it couldn’t have been more than a couple of seconds. There was a clock embedded in the screen. Jamie forced himself to stare at it, to not look at Phil. The clock didn’t move. Why the hell not? Was it broken? Was there something wrong with time? Had time stopped?

 

After an eternity, the digits switched. A second. He had been staring at it for a second.

 

He was supposed to wait for four and a half minutes.

 

He looked over at Phil. If he turned it off now, instead of waiting, Phil wouldn’t know. He could turn it off. He could turn it off right now. Phil was still twitching, his body arched and contorted unnaturally. There was saliva at the corner of his mouth.

 

Jamie looked back at the screen. Another two seconds had passed. What was wrong with time all of a sudden?

 

He could turn this off. He could.

 

He didn’t.

 

He waited.

 

30 seconds.

 

A minute.

 

Two minutes. Phil was starting to turn blue. Could he breathe like this? Could his lungs move any better than his spine, his hands? Could his heart?

 

Two and a half minutes.

 

Three minutes. Getting bluer. All the red was drained from his face leaving only white and that awful blue at his lips.

 

Three and a half. What if he was dead? What if he was just twitching because of nanites and electricity, and he was already dead? Other than the twitching, he looked dead. Dead and in pain.

 

Four. What if he was sitting here, watching Phil die, and not doing anything?

 

Four and a quarter. Jamie couldn’t take it. He pushed the button on his communicator and screamed into it as best as he could with his breath wheezing the way it was "ALMA JARVIS GET HELP. IT WENT WRONG GET HELP GET HELP NOW!" he pushed the kill switch as hard as he could. His finger punctured the thin film, distorting the image hopelessly.

Had it worked? Did it turn off? His vision swam, from tears or panic he couldn’t tell. He stared at the punctured screen. What should he do now?

He looked over at Phil. No change. Still blue. Still twitching. Jamie felt a whimper escape his throat. He let go of the screen.

 

He stared at Phil. He couldn’t bring himself to understand what he was seeing. His mind shutting down rather than comprehend that this was Phil, dying or dead, right next to him. That there was nothing he could think to do. It was too late.

 

He heard a crash as the door flew open, but he didn’t move. Clint was suddenly there, hands on Phil. Clint’s hand flew to his own ear "Stark! Get to Roger’s place right now! Hurry! Jarvis, Call an ambulance!" Clint’s eyes locked on Jamie "What happened? What did he do?"

 

Jamie was frozen, shut down. He couldn’t think. He wanted to. Wanted to tell Clint. Let Clint fix it if there was anything at all left to fix. Clint grunted his irritation, and turned back to Phil. He looked conflicted for a moment, then ripped the neural inhibitor off of Phil’s neck. Still nothing happened. Jamie chocked on a sound on his chest. Clint turned back to him again "Jamie! What happened?!"

 

Jamie fought through the constriction in his mind. "N-nanites. In his—but it went wrong and I couldn’t-"

 

Suddenly Tony was there. He looked down at Phil, eyes wide, body frozen for the tiniest second, staring in horror. He surged forward, closing the distance between himself and the bed, grabbing Phil’s wrist at a pulse point just as Phil’s body went limp.

 

There was a breathless second as Tony waited for a pulse, and everyone watched Phil’s limp form for any sign of movement. Jamie didn’t see any.

 

Tony rounded on Jamie, without getting up or releasing Phil’s wrist "What happened!" He demanded. Jamie felt a moment of raw terror at the sight of it. Tony’s eyes were red, wild, desperate. His voice uncontrolled and full of more rage and fear than Jamie had ever witnessed. Jamie froze again, guilt and regret paralyzing him.

 

Clint was not frozen, and he spoke, his tone tightly controlled and urgent. "He said something about nanites. He must’ve tried to use them on himself." Clint had his hand on Phil’s neck, just bellow the jaw, studying Phil’s face. "Tony, he’s alive." Tony turned back to Clint, then down to Phil again. Jamie’s eyes followed. He was breathing. Dear God, he was breathing. He was alive.

 

Tony held Phil’s face in his hands for a second, carefully, studying him desperately. He made the smallest noise, too quiet to even be a whimper. There were tears on his face. Tony’s breaths were deep but choked, and his hands shook. It reminded Jamie of Phil’s hands shaking. His fingers moved again, searching for a pulse. He must have found it at last, as his head dipped forward in a gesture that would have resembled relief if not for the tension holding the rest of him rigid.

 

Tony’s head snapped to the side, his eyes fixed on Jamie now. The rage was back, overtaking the fear. Tony lunged to his feet, directly at Jamie. Jamie managed to stagger back a half a step, but it was no use. Tony had him painfully gripped in both hard, callused hands, one on his arm, the other where his neck joined his shoulder, pressing down with a viselike intensity. Jamie couldn’t even consider trying to move away. He mutedly heard Clint shouting something in the background, but he had no focus to spare on it.

 

Tony’s face was inches from Jamie’s. "What did you do to him! _What did you do_?" Jamie’s vision swam again, he couldn’t bring himself to inhale. He desperately needed air but didn’t dare move enough to breath – pinned completely by Tony’s face and Tony’s voice, screaming at him, entirely deserved. "God _damn_ it _what did you do?_ I will throw you off this fucking tower _what did you do?_!" He shook Jamie, hard, and Jamie squeezed his eyes shut.

 

Tony’s arms suddenly wrenched to the side, tearing loose from Jamie’s collarbone. Jamie’s eyes opened again, and there was Signe, looming over Tony, entirely blue, with her teeth bared and red eyes blazing. She had one hand on Tony’s shoulder, and one on the arm still holding Jamie. She bellowed "Do not touch him!" inches from Tony’s face.

 

Tony’s grip on Jamie’s arm tightened and he stared up at Signe defiantly. He roared back, “Out of my face you alien reject!"

 

Signe growled and pressed forward, hands digging further into Tony’s body, frost crawling from her hands onto Tony’s shoulder. Jamie thought he heard a wet cracking noise, but it was hard to tell over all Clint’s shouting. Tony’s expression changed slightly, the pain reaching his eyes, but his fury was completely unchanged. Signe’s voice lowered, no longer a roar but a growl, "You are the cause of all of this, Stark. This is your doing a hundred times more than Jamie’s.” She pressed forward again, and seemed to be gathering momentum for some increased attack. Jamie wanted to call out to her to stop, but before he could get his mind around it Thor was there, grabbing Signe’s arms and pulling her. Signe’s thumb twisted and dug into Tony’s shoulder as she struggled to avoid letting go of her prey. Tony was making no effort to get away, but his hand released Jamie, vainly reaching for Signe’s arm instead, trying to pry her off, and Jamie staggered back another step.

 

Thor was shouting, "Signe! Do not do this! Let Tony go! He is your family!"

 

Signe’s voice was still low and furious. There were tears on her cheeks. "He is the cause of this! Phil would not be hurt if it weren't for _him!"_ Thor managed to pry Signe’s hands off of Tony just as Tony registered Signe’s accusation. Tony started to raise one arm towards Signe, either in violence or condemnation, but the move wasn’t completed, his arm jerking downward in pain from Signe’s damage. Clint was there then, next to Tony, hands on both Tony’s arms, ready to hold Tony back.

 

Natasha was there all of a sudden, leading a group of EMTs to Phil’s room. Without even a pause for the situation in the room her voice cut through with a command, "Everybody out! Now! They need room." There was no room for argument here, and everyone but Phil, who was still laying motionless on the bed, immediately evacuated the room, piling into the living room.

 

Then the waiting started. Nobody spoke. Nobody looked at each other. Everyone stared at the backs of the EMTs, busy at work in the bedroom, talking with crisp professionalism. Jamie stared, along with the rest of them. As they checked his vitals, put him on oxygen, and transferred him to a gurney. One of them came out to talk to Tony, asking what had happened. Tony, for once, didn’t seem able to speak clearly, he took a few steps towards the bedroom, running a hand over his face, shifting his weight aimlessly. The EMT put a hand on his chest, talking gently, and Clint again put a hand on Tony’s arm. Tony just kept watching the room. Jamie thought he saw Clint point to him.

Jamie felt like he was going to throw up.

 

Jamie felt _a lot_ like he was going to throw up. His knees buckled under him and he went down. A manicured hand put a trashcan in front of him just in time, and Jamie threw up until he was dry heaving. He felt the same slim hand rubbing his back. Natasha. The dry heaving gave way to choked, gross tasting sobs that wouldn’t let him inhale right as he felt his chin pulled up and a bright light shone in one of his eyes, then the other. The EMT was talking to him, or to Natasha, he wasn’t sure. He heard Tony’s voice again, angry but too weary for another full attack. The EMT released his face, and Jamie curled in on himself. Natasha pressed his inhaler into his hands.

 

The gurney carrying Phil was wheeled through the living room as Natasha coaxed him through using the inhaler, like he hadn't needed since he was really small. Jamie tried to get up, to follow. Her gentle but instant hands pulled him back down. A blanket draped around his shoulders, and he bowed his head again. Of course he wouldn’t be allowed to follow Phil, not after this. He closed his eyes, trying to just be still and wait. There wasn’t anything he could do now. Just wait. Wait and hope.


	8. Chapter 8

It had been a long time since Thor had had to try to physically force Signe to do anything. The shock of having to pry his daughter off of one of his dearest friends was still ringing in his head. What in Odin’s name had she been trying to do? What could possibly be gained by attacking Tony in the midst of Phil’s collapse?

 

There couldn’t be any justification. Signe’s attack had been based on no goal other than to see Tony hurt. To see a member of Signe’s own family hurting. Thor was furious. He didn’t know what had happened to Phil—but he could tell by the others around him that Tony had not caused it. Once the ambulance workers had left, wheeling Phil down the hall to be followed by Tony, Thor gave them time to clear the elevator before firmly taking hold of Signe’s arm. Signe resisted, silently, looking at Jamie where the poor boy was kneeling on the floor sobbing, being tended to by Natasha, and at Alma, curled in a traumatized knot on the sofa. But no, right now Signe did not deserve to be the one to tend to her brother and sister. He pulled her along, down the hallway and up the elevator back to their own home. He didn’t say anything. He would not subject the others to hearing their argument when they had each other to look after.

 

He pulled her into their living room, and around to face him. At least she was back to her normal color now. She was looking at him, lips tight and angry, but her eyes were afraid. Good. Let her be afraid. Thor was afraid.

 

He looked away from her for just a moment, trying to think where even to begin. What could he say? She knew her actions were wrong, she must. But she held her head high, her eyes even with Thor’s. For all that she was afraid she was not cowed. But she did not dare to try to wrench her wrist out of Thor’s firm grasp on it.

 

He had to speak, could not stay silent, so he let it be the most obvious thing that needed saying. "How could you do this?" and he was not surprised by the depth of the shock and betrayal in his voice. He had often fought with Signe, often been angry with or disappointed in her, but this betrayal was beyond anything he had experienced since…

 

It was exactly the feeling he had always feared from her.

 

She tried, now, to pull her wrist free of him, but he would not let her go, afraid of what she might do if not tethered to him. "You have no idea what is going on." She spat at him, the contempt in her voice was painfully familiar, if not with that face. Not quite that face.

 

"If that is true, it is because rather than tend to Phil I had to occupy myself with keeping you from killing Phil’s father as Phil lay injured before you." His voice was raising rapidly, he had no will to stop it. "I was busy keeping you from attacking your own family!"

 

Signe twisted her wrist, trying to break free, but still not daring to try any of the clever tricks she had learned from Natasha. She did not look away from his eyes. "He was attacking Jamie!"

 

"He was not!" Thor shouted back "He would not. Tony knows better than to attack a member of his family. He may argue but he would not do anyone in this tower any harm! Unlike you! Now what happened to Phil?" He demanded.

 

The fear in Signe’s eyes was all but replaced with calculating fury. "Phil was trying to fix what his attachment to Tony has done to him. He only wanted back what Tony’s enemies have taken from him. What Tony failed, _utterly_ to protect him from.” She wasn’t shouting anymore. Thor would have almost preferred that she would.

 

"And you think attacking Phil’s father would help? Tony is not perfect but he is Phil’s family, as he is yours!"

 

Signe’s eyes narrowed, she stopped trying to pull her wrist away, and stepped closer to Thor, her voice quiet and cold. "You think you are protecting your family from the betrayer, but I am not the one who has betrayed us. You refuse to see that. Because you suspected me already." Signe’s face blurred, shimmered briefly with familiar golden light, features morphing to…

 

Loki.

 

Thor let go, backing up a step automatically, his heart constricting painfully. _Loki._

 

When the figure in front of him spoke, it was Loki’s voice. "Is this what you fear? You see this no matter my appearance, do you not?" No…no it was not Loki. It was Signe. It was Thor’s daughter, playing a painfully heartless prank. She sneered with his brothers face, the precise familiarity of the gesture making Thor feel he’d lost his mind. "You do not question anything. Why Tony never made Phil a suit. Never required him to practice as I have, as Alma has, as even Jamie has. Tony may not have initiated the attack on Phil, but he failed to protect him from it. He has _always_ failed to protect Phil. Yet you and the others expect Phil to tolerate this kind of vulnerability without even an attempt to change things. Expect him to rely on that drunken, selfish excuse for a parent to protect him though he has already abandoned one child.”

 

Signe. Thor had to remind himself that this was Signe. It was not Loki, come back to haunt him for his past sins and failures. He studied Signe’s face and…it was not Loki’s. It looked very much like his brother, but not enough like him to truly decive anyone who had known him well. It was mimicry. But mimicry based on..what…photographs, videos perhaps, for Signe had never once seen her father by birth. This was Loki as seen through Earth’s cameras, Earth’s news, and Earth’s eyes. This was not Loki.

 

Gods, but she could be like him. And now she would use Loki’s face to make Thor feel ashamed, make him tip his hand.

 

He tried to think, clearly, about what she had actually just said, and not be distracted by her trick. It was only to upset him. But she was still speaking. "There was an agreement. We were not given the means to defend ourselves or each other, and we accepted this because we were told that you, all of you, would defend us. Phil, in particular, was Tony’s responsibility. But Tony. Failed. And, after doing so, buried himself in a bottle to avoid facing the one he failed to protect, in an act of what should have been unforgivable cowardice, but which you all seemed to accept. You have all left it to us to pick up where you have failed us. And Tony attacked Jamie for standing by his brother to repair the damage Tony failed to prevent. I am not going to fail to protect Jamie. I will not allow my brothers or my sister to be damaged again by you, or Tony’s, or _anyone else’s_ failures."

 

Signe stepped in close to Thor again "Phil risked much for this. I knew it. But unlike you I respect Phil’s ability to choose for himself how he will keep himself defended." Her face and body shimmered again, her appearance returning to Signe’s, although she somehow seemed not to be the child he had raised. "Phil will survive this. And, unlike you, I am perfectly willing to defy my father to save my brother. If I have to."

 

With that, she turned, head high, and strode down the hall, presumably to her room. She shut the door, but did not slam it. He had preferred, desperately preferred, that she had slammed it.

 

That was not his young daughter having a tantrum. That was a warrior swearing an oath. Signe had drawn a line in the sand, and dared Thor to be on the opposite side of it. That was Signe, stabbing a knife into him. Thor stood, stunned, completely at a loss for what to do.

 

The door knocked. "Come." He commanded, unthinking. The door opened to reveal Jamie, his face pale and wet, his eyes red rimmed. But, as Signe, he was altered. His jaw was set, and there was something of steel in his eyes. Behind him, Natasha stood, arms crossed, leaning on the doorframe, her expression reserved and unreadable.

 

Jamie’s voice was soft, but there was no hesitancy in it. "Thor. Please take me to Phil. Natasha wants to stay with Alma, and I want her to. But I have to get to Phil. I was the only one who was there, and maybe I can tell the doctors something useful. And…I have to explain what happened to Tony and to my dad. I won’t let them yell at him right now. I’ll take the bus on my own if I have to, but you can get me there faster. You said I was a good brother. Please help me to be." He looked up at Thor, his thin chest rising and falling in controlled, careful breaths. There was a slight bruise at his throat. Thor looked to Natasha. She nodded.

 

Thor nodded as well. This, he could do.

 

* * *

 

Tony’s world was crumbling. Even with Obi he hadn’t felt this betrayed. How could Phil do this? How could he even consider it? He’d lived his whole life watching the team take out scientists who’d experimented on themselves out of some desperate…need…he knew how this ended.

 

Except Phil hadn’t gone supervillan. He’d almost killed himself.

 

Maybe not even almost.

 

Tony paced the waiting room, completely unable to stop moving. If he stopped the steady motion of one foot in front of another the energy and panic in him would explode. He had to wait on the scan results. They would know soon if there was permanent damage. If Phil would be ok. They’d said it would be soon. Tony was pretty sure he’d been pacing this waiting room for at least a week. Steve had been alerted when an ambulance was called, and was sitting, head in his hands, in a chair against the wall. Pepper had been at an offsite meeting, and was still en route.

 

She was never going to talk to Tony after this. Because he hadn’t moved the nanites. Whatever Phil had been trying to do, it was with the nanites that Tony had said he would take away from him. Phil had been planning this, building this, right in front of Tony for the better part of a month and Tony hadn’t done anything. He pivoted on his heel, there wasn’t enough room to even pace right in this tiny room, and his collarbone screamed in protest. It was broken. Really, really broken. By another child he’d lived with, loved, and known since infancy.

 

He wished Phil had just broken a couple of Tony’s bones. Or experimented on Tony with nanities. Or basically done anything, _anything_ but this. Blown up New York. Run away and joined the circus. Got a girl pregnant. Anything but use the tech Tony had left in his hands to…

 

Because he was trying to fix what had happened to him because Tony had enemies.

 

There was no way he’d be able to keep any of them, now. He’d lose Phil and Steve and Pepper and Signe and Thor and…

 

The door opened, and a doctor, a nondescript man in his late 40s entered the room with a data pad in hand. Tony pivoted again, his attention zeroing in on the doctor. He heard a faint shuffle as Steve stood.

 

The doctor spoke "We don’t yet have a complete understanding of what happened here, but the neuroimaging scans don’t show any signs of brain damage. At the moment, it looks like young Mr. Stark is going to be ok. He should wake up within the next couple of hours."

 

Tony’s legs went out from under him, and he landed, hard, on his knees on the floor, relief temporarily taking over the parts of his brain required for standing. Phil was going to be ok. He wasn’t dying or a vegetable. He’d wake up. He'd still be Phil.

 

Tony became aware of something annoying him. It was the doctor, trying to talk to him and shining an annoying pen light in his eyes. Tonys shoved the doctors hand away, but had to abort the motion in the middle because of his shoulder. Something in there was grinding. The doctor turned and said something to someone else. Tony didn’t care. The doctor had said what Tony needed to hear.

 

Anything else could wait.

 

Phil would be ok.

 

There were a few breaths when nothing else could get his attention but the overpowering relief of that knowledge.

 

Then, the rage came back, barreling through him. How could Phil do this to him? He’d known he shouldn’t have, or he would have come to Tony for help. He’d known this was a stupid idea or he wouldn’t have used that enabling little monster Jamie to help him. He clenched his hands hard enough to hurt, fingers digging into his palms, pulling muscles all up his arm and into his collarbone. It hurt enough to keep him grounded, otherwise he felt like he might just disintegrate. His heart was still pounding against the reactor. How could Phil do this?

 

A large, hot, familiar hand on his back prevented him from shooting to his feet to resume his pacing. It was Steve, sitting next to him on the floor, one arm over Tony’s back,  His voice was thick and shaking, and he was saying something to the doctor. Tony allowed Steve to hold him there for a moment, the contact just enough to keep him from the desperate need to keep moving. The doctor left.

 

Steve hung his head, and his arm around Tony tightened. Suddenly, the contact was no good. It was like Steve’s arm on him was calling up reactions he didn't want, and a wall of emotions were poised to come crashing down and consume him. He started to push Steve’s heavy arm off of him, but wasn’t fast enough, and the wall hit him. He shattered.

 

He couldn’t do anything but shake—dry, nearly silent sobs crashing through him. Not enough thought left in him to even keep himself sitting upright. Steve’s arm moved, pulling Tony closer to Steve’s side. His head bent into Tony’s neck. Steve’s other big, burning hot hand found one of Tony’s and squeezed it hard enough to hurt. Tony couldn’t begin to think of pulling away.

 

It wasn’t actually long that he stayed that way. After the last month, his body just couldn’t sustain anything, and he exhausted himself into blessed numbness that normally would have required a good sized bottle of vodka. He could feel Steve still clutching onto him, some kind of lifeline back to reality if he ever worked up the energy to make the trip.

 

Pepper arrived, throwing open the door, eyes wide, face pale, panicked. Tony looked away. He couldn’t look at her. She would know whose fault this was. He felt Steve shift, as if he was about to get to his feet. Tony clutched his hand as hard as he could. Steve stilled, then looked up at Pepper "Pepper, it’s ok. He’s going to be ok." Steve’s voice did not sound right at all. “He had a seizure but he’s going to be ok."

 

Tony could see her shoes at the upper limit of his vision. They staggered, leaning their owner against the doorframe. He heard her voice. "Oh thank God. All I heard was—that he was here, in an ambulance, and I just…but, he’s going to be ok?"

 

Steve’s voice again "He should wake up in the next couple of hours. There wasn’t any brain damage."

 

The white heels took a few steps forward, closing the door behind them. Pepper sat in the chair closest to the door. There was a moment of silence as she absorbed it. Tony tried to do the same. Phil would be ok. Try to focus on that, and not on how he completely betrayed Tony and his entire family by doing something so mind-blowingly stupid that threatened to destroy Tony utterly just for the sake of hearing. He felt Steve’s hand rub along his back in a not-quite-futile soothing gesture.

 

"What on earth happened?" Pepper’s voice again. And this was the point where Tony wanted to run. He might have, if it weren’t for the weight of Steve's arm across his back. "Was this a delayed effect of the ray from before or-"

 

He felt Steve tense to, and shifted. Tony hung his head. His body dredged up the energy for a choked sob, deep in his chest. He didn’t even want to see Pepper’s feet. There was no way Tony could answer this. He heard Steve again, uncharacteristicaly tentative and ashamed. “It—was the nanites. He tried to use them on himself. We’re guessing to try and fix his hearing."

 

The silence was biting. It hurt but not as much as what Tony knew was coming. Pepper’s voice sliced even that painful silence "The nanites. The nanites that Tony was going to have Phil take out of his lab? The too-dangerous nanites that everyone agreed he shouldn’t be playing with on his own? He still had them.” Pepper sounded like she was still at least trying to keep the shrill fury out of her voice. Which was nice of her, an unwarranted mercy, but destined not to last.

 

He felt Steve cringe. Steve had known that Phil had the nanites too, after all. Tony was at least not entirely alone in his shame. Steve’s hand went down to wrap around Tony’s waist, and he didn’t let go of Tony’s hand. Steve carefully pulled Tony upwards. Tony didn’t want to go. Upwards was where Pepper and his inevitable condemnation was, but he didn’t have close to the energy he'd need to resist. He let Steve drag him to his feet, and did his best to stay standing. He didn't look at Pepper. Steve didn’t say anything. He pulled up one of the flimsy waiting room chairs next to Tony, who apparently he didn’t think could go on standing under his own steam. As soon as Pepper spoke again he was proven correct, and Tony sank down into the chair, still gripping Steve’s hand as the only touch anyone was going to offer him for a long time.

 

"You mean he did this to _himself_?" And there it was, the truth of it. Phil’s effectively suicidal act- the one that he and Steve had been trying and failing to watch for, had happened right under their noses. Neither Tony nor Steve looked at her.

 

"He did this to himself." She repeated. “I—“ and her voice broke. There was silence for a minute, then the sound of a chair scraping as Pepper got to her feet. Another small noise came from her direction as she tried to understand. Tony finally dared a look at her. She was standing, her eyes were full of tears, and she had her hand over her mouth, looking down at the floor. Her face started to crumple, and she shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut. She turned on her heel towards the door.

 

“Pepper—“ Steve started, sounding helpless and smaller than he was, but it was no good. She slammed the door shut behind her.

 

Tony wished that he could go after her, reassure her, make her feel all right, but the weight of his shame and his grief pinned him to his chair. He had no right to try to comfort her after his failure to protect Phil had almost killed him. Again. He gripped Steve’s hand and felt Steve's other hand come back up to rest on Tony’s back. Pepper would never forgive him for this. Phil would never forgive him for this. And Tony wasn’t even sure he could forgive Phil for this. But he damn well was going to hold on to all of them as hard as he could for as long as he could, no matter how furious everyone was at him.

 

He gripped Steve’s hand harder, grateful that Steve, at least, he couldn’t hurt. Steve could hurt him, and would, eventually, but Tony could hold onto him as hard as he wanted and know Steve couldn’t be hurt by it the way Pepper and Phil could.

 

He rested his shoulder against Steve’s, hoping he wouldn’t notice the swelling of his collarbone under his shirt and force Tony to stop the contact in favor of medical attention Tony had no interest in right now. If he could just…stay by Steve, Steve would help make sure that Tony didn’t do anything worse to the others. He wouldn’t let Tony go upstairs and scream and scream at Phil for his selfishness and stupidity. Or at Pepper for her stupidity in trusting him to take care of Phil. She should have taken him in the divorce, saved Phil from Tony’s selfishness. Steve couldn’t make this better—no-one could make this better. But Steve at least could keep Tony from making it worse for a little while. Tony closed his eyes, and tried not to think anymore.

 

* * *

 

Steve shifted in the plastic waiting room chair. Getting comfortable was not an option. He still had one hand on Tony’s back, but Tony was still and quiet now, his head in one hand, waiting, or thinking. Tony's other hand was gripping Steve's. Pepper still hadn’t come back. And Phil…still hadn’t woken up. For the second time in one month, the family could only wait for Phil to wake up, and hope the doctors were right. He glanced at the clock again. The doctors had said it could be hours before Phil woke up. What had felt like hours the clock told him was only about thirty minutes.

 

He had to keep reminding himself that the doctors had said there was no brain damage. Phil would wake up. What they would do with him after that, Steve had no idea. This time wasn’t like before. This wasn’t an enemy attack. This was what Phil had done to himself, right under everyones noses. How had he managed this without anyone noticing?

 

Steve knew the answer. Because he and Tony both had turned a blind eye to what they did know. They had ignored possibilities they hadn’t wanted to consider. Steve didn’t fully understand what had happened—Tony hadn’t talked much and even less in words that weren’t strings of expletives, but he knew that Phil had tried to use the nanites on himself and it had gone very wrong.

 

The door opened, and Steve’s attention snapped to it, expecting the doctor back with some news. The door opened about a fourth of the way, just enough to reveal Jamie standing tenatively in the doorway. Jamie looked at Steve, then shot a more nervous glance at Tony that seemed strange. Steve looked at Tony. Tony’s expression was coldly furious, glaring at Jamie. "Get. Out." Tony spat.

 

But Jamie swallowed hard, winced, and spoke "I need to talk to pop. About what happened. I want to help."

 

Steve shifted to get up, and paused again as Tony spoke, feeling Tony’s muscles tensing as if he was preparing for a fight "You helped enough. Get the fuck out."

 

Steve did not like the tone Tony was taking, but he tried to keep his voice calm. "Tony, I’ll be right back." Tony shot Jamie one more venomous look, but let it go. Steve pulled his hand out of Tony's grip, carefully. Feeling guilty as Tony seemed to resist the movement, silently asking Steve for something he should have been able to give. Would give. Just as soon as he got back.

 

Steve followed Jamie into the hall, looking for another spare private room."How’d you get here?"

 

"Thor brought me. I needed to talk to you and maybe the doctors." Jamie seemed strange. Grim. He was facing Steve like he was expecting a court martial.

 

"Ok, let me just…find us another room, ok?" Jamie nodded. Steve was uncomfortable enough with having his team and family so exposed in a public hospital, especially when this vulnerable. And especially since this was the same hospital that had tossed Phil out hours after his last injury. At least he could try to keep things behind closed doors. He found a room and ushered Jamie inside.

 

This room, like the one before, had several plastic chairs, a clock, and not much else. Jamie didn’t sit or turn back to Steve, he just stood near the center of the room, head slightly bowed. Steve put a hand on his shoulder. "The doctors say there was no damage. He should be up in a couple of hours." Some of the tension drained out of Jamie’s shoulders, and for a moment Steve thought he’d drop, like Tony had. Instead he exhaled deeply, and nodded.

 

Steve kept his voice soft. "So, what did you need to tell me?" Maybe Jamie had been the one to find Phil—he had been home at the time, after all. It must have been Jamie who called for help.

 

Jamie was staring at the unadorned opposite wall. "I guess mostly it doesn’t matter now. I saw the seizure, so I thought maybe I could help. But it sounds like Phil’s going to be ok. That’s good."

 

"Yeah. No brain damage, they said. I’m not so sure he’s ok." Steve wasn’t sure how to talk about this with Jamie. Jamie was pretty observant, but obviously hadn’t guessed at Phil’s level of desperation any more than Steve or Tony had. Poor kid must be feeling pretty blindsided.

 

Jamie nodded. "He’s not ok. But as long as he's alive and he’s still gonna be Phil. Not some vegetable or something." He nodded again. Steve smiled. Good to see Jamie’s priorities. He wondered how long it would be before Tony or Pepper could stop being mad. For that matter, before Steve could stop being mad. Right now, he was still mainly anxious, but he was pretty sure that once Phil was up and moving again, the weight of what Phil had tried to do to himself would set in.

 

Jamie took another deep breath, he took a step away from Steve and turned around, so he didn’t have to crane his neck up to look Steve. His eyes locked on Steve’s with unusual directness. "Tony didn’t tell you," He said. Steve didn’t like the way he’d said it. Whatever Jamie had come to say, it was taking quite a bit of his courage to say it. Steve waited expectantly. Jamie swallowed again, there were tears in his eyes, but he held his head level. "I was helping Phil. With the procedure. I’ve known about it for about three weeks, and agreed to help him with it. I was there the whole time and I didn’t stop him or tell you. I did what Phil said to.”

 

Steve’s eyes widened. Jamie continued to stare at him, steadily, his lips tight and every muscle tensed. He wanted to demand why. To shout at Jamie, demand an explanation. Demand to know why in God’s name Jamie would do something so stupid and dangerous. How he could knowingly let Phil risk his life for this, and not tell anyone. Jamie had actually known, had seen the desperation the rest of them had missed, and he’d done nothing. Steve shut his eyes tight for a moment, and clenched his jaw around all the words trying to burst out of him. There would be no answer Jamie could give that would matter. This was not the time for fighting. He struggled internally for control a moment more before opening his eyes, forcing himself to calm down slightly and saying "There will be consequences for this." Jamie nodded, mutely, still not looking away. "Does your mom know?"

 

"Not yet. I couldn’t find her.I’ll tell her too, if you want." Jamie’s voice shook, but his resolution was ernest. He looked like one of the young soldiers, still boys, who’d made their way to the front lines to try and hold their own against something bigger than themselves. The untested children who usually made the wrong call, who usually ended up killed or getting the men around them killed.

 

"Not. Not now. She has enough to deal with." He wasn’t even sure where Pepper was. He suspected she was somewhere on the hospital grounds. She would come back when she was ready, or when Steve could give her some news. At first Steve was pleased they were at least all here, at the hospital this time. On second thought, he wasn’t sure, as angry as everyone was, that it was an improvement. "Go find Thor, and go home. We’ll talk more later." Steve turned back towards the door, not wanting to look at Jamie right now. Not wanting Jamie to read him.

 

Jamie didn’t move. "There’s more."

 

Steve closed his eyes again, tried again to pull himself together before facing Jamie. He was gripping the edge of his jacket with white knuckles. "What else could matter right now?"

 

Jamie did close his eyes this time, but only for a moment. "There was a fight. When everyone came to help. Tony—was really mad at me. He was yelling a lot and grabbed me. He uhm. He was mad. Then Signe came in and saw, and she got mad. I’m pretty sure she broke Tony’s shoulder before Thor came and stopped her. He should probably see a doctor, too.” Jamie looked to the side, and Steve noticed that he was rubbing a spot where his shoulder met his neck, and there was a bruise there. Not far from his throat.

 

Steve’s mind was racing, but spinning it’s wheels. Tony—had hurt Jamie? And Signe had broken Tony’s bones? He took a step back, as if he could possibly back away from the disasters today was dropping on him. He leaned back against the door. He’d known things at the tower had been precarious, lately. But Phil nearly killing himself, Jamie hiding Phil’s condition and his plan, Tony attacking—was that fair? Attacking? Is that what had happened? He looked again at Jamie’s bruise, as Jamie tried to draw his jacket over it. His son, trying to cover bruises. And Signe attacking Tony.

 

Tony. Should he go get a doctor for him? A cruel, quiet impulse in the back of his mind said no. That Tony wasn’t deserving of Steve’s help after what he’d done. That he couldn’t possibly owe Tony anything more after this.

 

No. No, that’s now how this was going to work. He couldn’t imagine, at this moment, forgiving Tony for this. But forgiven or not, Tony needed his help right now. First, Steve would do his best to get everyone through today. He would worry about that came next after that.

 

He looked back up at Jamie, who had drawn his jacket tight around himself and had his arms crossed over his chest. He looked so small. Steve didn’t know what to make of him, "Are you ok?" He asked. Jamie nodded silently, not looking at Steve. He was not all right. But he didn’t seem to need anything that Steve could supply right now. "Go…go find your mom. I’ll go deal with Tony." Jamie nodded again. Steve opened the door, and Jamie left the room, heading out down the hall to find Pepper.

 

Leaving Steve to deal with Tony. Unless—maybe Thor was still around? But, it sounded like Thor had other things on his plate right now. He knew Natasha and Clint had stayed at the tower. That left Steve.

 

His feet were dragging as he walked the brief space down the hall back to the room where Tony was. What the hell could he say? It was probably best to say as little as possible right now. If he said too much, his temper might slip on him. He squared his shoulders, trying to focus on his duty. He opened the door. Tony was still in the same chair, but now he was buckled over with one hand up at his shoulder. He wasn’t moving and didn’t make a sound, but his expression was glassy-eyed and tight. The adrenaline must have worn off, letting thepain in. But he hadn’t moved. Hadn’t left the room where the doctors would go when Phil woke up. Where was this a month ago, a bare _month_ ago, when Phil had needed him?

 

"You need a doctor. It’s broken, isn’t it?" He kept his voice level as he could, but there was still an edge to it.

 

"I’ll get to it later." Tony answered. Tony really could do a remarkable job of keeping pain out of his voice, but this time he fell just a little short.

 

Great. The time Steve felt the least like helping Tony, he was determined to be difficult. “Could you even talk to Phil, right now?"

 

Tonys voice was irritable, but still tinged with the desperation that had dominated him earlier. "He’s unconscious. When he wakes up—“

 

"Could you say anything to him, if he _was_ awake? Are you capable of talking to him right now without making things worse?" Steve heard his voice rising, and stopped himself.

 

Tony looked up at him, not moving, avoiding jarring his—it looked like his collarbone— and his expression was equal parts anger and desperation. "What?"

 

Steve couldn’t hold it back. He tried at least to keep from shouting. "I saw Jamie’s neck. You blame Jamie and you’re mad at Phil. But Phil is fragile enough as it is. He doesn’t need you screaming at him or hurting him. If you try it I will remove you."

 

There was a cold, heavy silence for a minute as Tony stared at him and Steve tried to get back to wanting to actually help Tony, before he spoke. "Go and get your shoulder looked at and calm down. Get your head on straight. Phil’s better off waiting than seeing you now and having you yell at him."

 

Tony stared at him a moment more, his jaw working, his eyes blazing. He got to his feet, slightly less steadily than Steve would have liked, and walked out of the room without another word. He slammed the door behind him, leaving Steve alone to wait for news of Phil. He sat down in the chair he’d sat in beside Tony earlier. He leaned his head back against the wall, and waited.

 

* *

 

Tony made his way through the hospital with the long, fast strides of someone who should not be interrupted. His shoulder burned and he could still feel grinding inside it. Moving his left arm upwards at all was not an option right now. He didn’t know where he was going in such a hurry—the emergency room would probably be sensible, but they would try to make him sit down and talk calmly and all he wanted to do was scream and swear and break things. Or go back to Steve. Or get a drink. But they didn’t sell those in hospitals and leaving the hospital grounds with a thoroughly broken collarbone and an unconscious son to go and probably start a major scene in whatever bar he could walk to from here…that really would make him as bad as everyone said he was. If he was going to drink, he’d do it alone, in private, at home, where no-one would bother him as he blacked everything out.

 

Steve’s words burned in his mind. He wasn’t capable of talking to Phil right now. He wasn’t capable of doing anything right now but making the situation worse. Because he did want to scream at Phil, shake him, scream and god, probably cry, and loose his mind until Phil understood, really understood, how awful what he’d done was.

 

And that wasn’t going to help.

 

Phil was hurting, possibly suicidal, facing down the idea of not being whole anymore. Tony was utterly powerless in front of that.

 

He realized he was starting to feel lightheaded, and slowed down his walk, eventually coming to a halt on a large second-story atrium, panting. A few people glanced at him here and there, but most people in hospitals were too focused on their own lives to pay any attention to a stranger. He really was feeling lightheaded. It would probably be good to sit down very shortly now, before he passed out and landed on his already damaged shoulder. Damn shock.

 

He made his way carefully but quickly to the wall of windows that made up a third of the round atrium’s walls. The floor didn’t want to stay quite level, but he could walk on it. There was a railing and he leaned on it, heavily. He leaned his head on the window, and closed his eyes. The glass was cool on his head, and for some reason the sensation seemed to help his mind do slow down.

 

He couldn’t talk to Phil yet. He would clear his head, calm down. Maybe then—maybe then he could at least go to Phil without making things worse, even if the past month had exposed his total inability to manage anything better. Holding still seemed to help with the lightheadedness. Tony opened his eyes and looked out across the bank of windows.

 

Several feet away, he saw Jamie, looking down through the window at the sidewalk below. Jamie. The only person who had actually had a fighting chance at stopping Phil, but hadn’t. Who’d just _watched_ Phil give himself a potentially deadly seizure instead of put up with needing some accommodations here and there.

 

Jamie looked over at him. His expression was more than nervous as he did so. Then it changed, a different kind of concern setting in. He turned to face Tony, searching him with his eyes before speaking "I think you should sit down."

 

Tony barely registered the words. There, just at the bottom of Jamie’s neck, there was a light, but very fresh, bruise. He almost backed away from the boy as Jamie took several steps closer, his eyes fixed on the mark. Jamie stopped a couple feet away, registering what Tony was looking at, and his eyes moved again, searching Tony’s face.

 

Tony heard his own voice as if it were coming from a long way off "I did that." It wasn’t a question. He didn’t know why it had to be said aloud. He knew he’d done it. He knew that, in that moment, he’d wanted to do it. Possibly even to do worse. To little Jamie.

 

The dizziness came back in full force, but he managed to sit down rather than collapse. He was startled to feel a small hand on his good arm as he went down, and jerked away from it. Jamie had actually just tried to catch him. That little—

 

He opened his eyes as his head cleared again. Jamie was crouching next to him, looking concerned. What was with those Rogers’, anyways? Jamie’s expression was closed, shuttered, only letting some concern show through. Concern for Tony. Goddamnit. Concern for Tony with a bruise on his goddamn neck after Tony threatened to throw him off the tower. Fucking Rogers’.

 

"I should get someone—“ he started, but stopped as Tony grabbed his arm. His eyes widened and at the fear was back, but he made no move to get away or make a sound.

 

Tony looked him squarely in the eyes, his voice was low, harsh, and a little blurred around the edges, just like his vision "That will never. Happen. Again."

 

Jamie’s eyes only widened more "It wasn’t—I was—I was just trying to-" he tried, but he seemed too freaked out to speak coherently.

 

Tony tightened his grip for a second before realizing that would make this worse and relaxed it. He tried again, willing Jamie to understand and believe him. "No. I mean me. The way I acted. That will not happen again. Ever. I don’t even care why—it just won’t.”

 

Jamie watched him, thinking for a second, then nodded. He seemed to actually believe Tony, for some godforsaken reason. God bless him. Tony meant it. How many chances were these people going to give him? He let his head rest against the window again.

 

Tony took a couple seconds just to breathe and let his head clear again. Jamie sat by him, silently. When Tony opened his eyes, Jamie was looking down again, out the window. Tony tried to crane his head around to see what Jamie was looking at—it was Pepper, standing outside in the cold with a cup of hospital coffee in one hand, the other hand over her eyes. People walked by her, politely not looking. Fuck.

 

Tony wanted to go down there to her. But what would that accomplish? She had already walked out on him and his incompetence once that day. Better not subject her to any more of it. "Are you going to go down to her?" Tony asked Jamie.

 

"She looks like maybe she wants to be alone. I was trying to decide what to do." He said, still looking down towards her.

 

"You should. Go down to her, I mean. Let her see that you’re ok."

 

"She’s going to be mad at me." Jamie said, his voice choking for the fist time.

 

"Don’t tell her the bad stuff yet. She doesn’t know. Just go see her. I can’t. And she won’t talk to Steve, either. That leaves you."

 

Jamie nodded, slowly, then looked back at Tony, skeptically. "Can I…get you someone first? I heard your shoulder and it’s…wow, its really swollen. Uhm. I think you're going to faint or something if you try to walk."

 

Get someone? Oh. Yeah, they would have wheelchairs and doctors and things in the hospital, wouldn’t they. They could probably bring him the rest of the way to the ER. He might be going into shock a little bit, because the urgent need to move, to keep moving, was utterly gone. The prospect of just letting go, just not doing or thinking about or being responsible for anything for just a little bit was very appealing. Just let the doctors do their doctory things to his collarbone. Just let go of thinking until he had some painkillers in his system. Maybe, then, when Phil woke up, he’d be able to talk to him, instead of just falling apart in front of him.

 

He felt distantly ashamed of needing this. Iron Man, in shock or close to it, from a measly collar bone fracture. Ok, break. Ok, maybe several breaks. And some of the worst emotional trauma of his life.

 

But he’d walked off the plane under his own power after Afghanistan. He’d held a press conference. Maybe it was age doing this to him. Or fatherhood. Fatherhood seemed likely. Or, it was the years of superheroing and partying catching up to him at last.

 

Either way, he wasn’t going to walk to that ER under his own steam. He nodded. "Yeah. Thanks." Jamie nodded back, rushing off to alert the nearest hospital employee. Tony closed his eyes and just let his mind shut off for right now. At the moment, he was no use to anyone. Maybe, if he could rest for a bit, he could at least not be a hinderance.

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to gerbilfluff for the copyediting. :)
> 
> Thanks to you folks sticking around. I'm still around on Tumblr as Constant_Instigator if y'all wanna stop by. My askbox is always open.

Natasha was curled on Clint's couch, calculations and risk assessments running through her mind. She'd been preparing for a major system meltdown, but this was a lot faster than she'd been prepared for. She’d figured when one of the worst-case scenarios in this tower finally happened, the others would domino. She hadn't expected them to domino within  _minutes_. Three within five minutes was more than she could prepare for. More than she could reasonably triage. And the specific way Tony had snapped? She hadn't seen that coming at all.

 

In the other room, she could make out the muffled voices of Clint and Alma as Clint finally delivered the lecture part of today’s meltdown. He was furious, almost as angry as he was scared, but he was keeping his voice level and nonthreatening. In another life, another situation, he probably would have been a great father.

 

Eventually he reappeared in the living room. His age was showing acutely. He was badly shaken. He glanced at her before dropping into a chair at the table. "This fucking sucks."

 

"That's one way of putting it."

 

"This place was supposed to be  _safe.”_ He growled, shifting his weight, trying to get comfortable when he knew he couldn’t.

 

"Alma's fine." She answered evenly. Trying to hold it together. Trying to hold  _him_  together.

 

"For now.  _This_  time. What about the next time?"

 

She wasn't sure what to say to that. This wasn't going to be the end of any of these problems. Escalation was entirely likely. Nearly inevitable. “Thinking of leaving?"

 

He stopped, looking down, one arm on the table. He paused before answering. He sounded scared. "Aren't you?"

 

She didn't know what to say to that, either. There were two options—do the sensible thing and advise him to cut his losses and get out, leave with her. Or do the honest thing, and admit she had half made up her mind to stay until Stark’s final self-destruction forcibly scattered them. Asking Alma to sit through that would probably be cruel, though, and there was no way she was letting Clint and Alma leave here without backup. Backup that Clint would actually accept, now that he'd be less likely to want Signe around Alma. 

 

She took the middle ground. "I suspect it's going to be a moot point pretty soon here."

 

"Yeah? How's that?" His voice was bitter; he recognized she wasn't offering hope.

 

"You think Tony's going to want any of us around after this? After what the kids did? It's still his tower."

 

He paused again, swearing under his breath. He sat back against the chair back, blinking too much. It helped, seeing him so near a meltdown. Expressing what she couldn’t. He still knew it was there, whether she showed it or not. “Pepper wouldn't let him."

 

"Even Pepper has her limits. And we might just have hit them." Pepper would never want to see them all evicted, but she might just be done with them. She could take the boys with her and go. Pull them away from Tony, from the Avengers, try her luck on a maximum security tower of her own. Natasha liked to think Pepper would still take her calls if she did that. Would still talk to her the way she’d gotten used to Pepper talking to her. Even if she did, it would be a lot easier for Tony to drive the rest of them out if Pepper left. Thor would probably be ashamed enough of what Signe did to be pretty easy to chase off. He wouldn't understand what he was doing, wouldn’t believe it if she tried to tell him. Then it would just be Clint, Alma, Natasha and Steve left to witness Tony drinking himself to death.

 

She knew Steve wouldn't go. He'd stay till they carted Tony off in a body bag. Her stomach twisted at the image. She remembered Tony's divorce all too clearly. And even then, Tony had had a number of obligations and connections to hold him back. Now, he was losing Pepper all over again, probably with Phil, one way or another, and Jamie and Signe, who he had always cared more about than he'd let on...His chances of surviving this were slim to none. Especially as hard as he'd been pushing Steve away. Steve wouldn't go, but Tony wouldn't let him help, either.

 

For a second she considered just kidnapping Tony. She could do it. Drive him out to a cabin in some woods in the middle of nowhere with no tech and no booze until he leveled out again. However long that took. Tony could adapt to damn near anything if he was forced to. She’d just have to keep him moderately functional long enough to make him adapt. If she explained to the rest of the team ahead of time, they’d probably let her.

 

No, SHIELD was around here somewhere, and even with 20+ years of good behavior from her, they'd be likely to intervene if she started kidnapping superheroes to drag them off to rural areas and detain them against their will. She wondered how bad they'd let Tony get before stepping in to deal with him themselves. Maybe they’d wait till it was all over, then try to come collect Steve again when the dust had cleared. If he was hurting bad enough, was enough in need of something to belong to, someplace to go lick his wounds, some backup with Tony no longer behind him, it might even work. Maybe he'd let her and Clint back him up. But they couldn't supply him. And they wouldn't, couldn't try to replace Tony as the tech expert on the team. If he went with her and Clint, he'd have to retire, too. She didn't think he'd let himself. And he couldn’t disappear with Jamie still in the world.

 

Now, if  _Steve_  kidnapped Tony off to some cabin someplace, SHIELD would likely leave well enough alone. She wondered if she could talk him into it. If Steve believed enough that that was what was needed to save Tony… but Steve would never leave the tower with the kids so exposed and vulnerable. Not  _really_  leave.

 

Clint spoke again, bringing her mind back to the present. His voice was quiet, tired, and nearly devoid of hope. "Maybe...we should just go. Before somebody gets killed." He was hoping she'd talk him out of it. Tell him he was wrong. Wanted her to call his bluff. 

 

But he was right. No matter how she looked at this, she couldn't imagine keeping it all together. There was too much trust lost, and too much anger here now. Even getting Clint to trust Tony or Signe again seemed unlikely. They, the two of them, wouldn't be able to salvage this. She should agree with him. 

 

All she managed to say was "Maybe."

 

He was leaning his elbows on the table, now, fingers lacing and unlacing, stretching to maintain limberness, not bothering to hide his tell. "I know you could get us new identities. Maybe Alma'd like that. And I could--" He cut himself off, looking down.

 

"Retire?" she prompted. He flinched. Clint Barton had lived his entire life not expecting to live beyond the next five years. He hadn't ever mentally prepared himself for the prospect of retirement. Of having survived it all. 

 

She got up and walked over to him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders from behind, and resting her cheek against his head. "It's ok. It's ok to do that. You've earned it. There's nothing wrong with getting out before you get taken down."

 

“Stark’s still fighting," he grunted defensively.

 

“Stark’s probably going to drink himself to death within the next two years. Let's not use him as a role model." He flinched again, harder this time, leaning out of her grasp. She didn't let go. "Leave me a couple people, ok?"

 

He sagged, exhaling, closing his eyes. “That’s a low blow, Nat."

 

She circled around him to sit in the chair next to his. "No, the low blow would be telling you to leave someone for Alma or Steve to come back to. See how nice I’m being?”

 

He grunted a humorless laugh. There was another silence before he spoke. “Wish they’d call.”

 

“If they haven’t yet, it means he’s still alive.”

 

Clint stared blindly at the table with the tiniest nod. “Yeah.” Clint and Phil, they weren’t close. They just didn’t have much in common anymore. But Clint had been there at the start, been Phil's first babysitter. And once he gave someone his full loyalty, they had it. Phil had it. "It's really all ending this time, huh." Phil might live, but they might not be around to appreciate that fact. Or to try to protect him better in the future. God, she hated that she’d missed this. She was getting sloppy. Too emotionally invested. 

 

She sighed. "I guess if...Tony didn't hold a grudge against Signe, and Steve, Jamie and Pepper forgave Tony, Phil survives this and swears not to try again, and you managed to trust Tony and Signe, then  _maybe_  this could be salvageable."

 

"Hey, don't put this on me," he objected.

 

She shrugged. "I'm not. But right now, would you let Alma around either of them?"

 

Another pause, followed by another sigh. "Maybe if Stark quit drinking and Signe...fuck, I don't know. She needs to get her shit together."

 

"Tony was sober this morning."

 

He put his hands over his face, leaning backwards and making a wordless noise of frustration. "That's  _worse_."

 

"I know. That's why you needed to know."

 

"Then I don't know. I don't know what it would take for me to trust him. Think we could get Steve to keep him leashed?"

 

This time she smirked. "I think if they haven't managed to get that far by now, that that ship has sailed."

 

This time his small laugh held at least a little humor in it. "Too bad. If those two had actually managed to get to fucking, things might actually be better around here. When they were on the same page, it seemed like nothing could take them down." He sounded nostalgic, wistful. It made him seem old. 

 

Natasha didn’t like feeling nostalgic. She’d never been a fan of looking back. But she missed, and had been missing, the way they used to be together. They used to have the same kind of wholehearted, stupid investment in the people they loved that Clint did. That kind of devotion gave off a warmth she’d spent years basking in, admiring it. She didn’t need it for herself, but she’d liked having it around.

 

She allowed herself a laugh. At least she still had Clint. And Alma. And for now, Phil must still be alive. “Well, it sounds like you’re not ready to leave  _today_ , at least."

 

He shook his head. "Nah. I'm pretty used to betting on bad ideas. I can give this one just a little longer, for old time’s sake.”

 

She nodded. "All right. That's the plan, then. In the mean time, we'll minimize damage where we can. Ok?"

 

He nodded. They'd agreed on riskier plans than this.

 

* **

Signe sat on xyr bed, staring into space, mind whirling.

 

Xe wanted desperately to know how Phil was faring. If he was ok. If he was  _going_  to be ok. But nobody was going to rush to tell xyr what was happening. Despite xyr desire to protect Phil, xe knew xe was shut out. There was nothing for xyr to do now but wait. Eventually Jamie at least would get xyr news.

 

Signe flexed xyr hands. They had memorized the feeling of Tony’s bones snapping underneath xyr thumb, and were replaying the memory over and over. Xe could feel echoes of the sensation all up xyr arm. Three distinct, wet pops yielded after so little pressure applied. The sure knowledge that all xe would have to do to shatter the bone beyond repair would be to squeeze just a little harder. Such a small motion to add a few more loose shards to those already wandering Tony’s abdomen.  Only a small squeeze beyond that would have bled him out in moments. The physical memory was distractingly clear,  as if xyr muscles wanted this memory, as if xyr hands had craved it.

 

Xe wondered if, from the outside, it has looked as though xe was squeezing slowly because snapping Tony’s bones had taken significant effort. But no, surely everyone present was aware that snapping something as small as a mortal's collarbone was an insignificantly easy action for xyr. Still, they were busy. And distracted. Maybe no-one had thought to question it yet.

 

Ugh, xe didn’t want to be thinking about Tony now. It was Phil who deserved xyr attention. Xe stretched xyr hands, trying to shake loose the looping memory vibrating in xyr veins. Phil was in danger, probably even now. He could be dead or dying. And xe had helped him get there.

 

_No._  This was Phil’s choice. Phil knew who he was and what he wanted, and xe would not dishonor his courage with pity or regret. Xe would stand by him, and what he had done. He needed that.

 

Xe hoped he still needed that. Hoped he was not beyond needing anything.

 

If Phil was dead, how long would it take before someone told xyr? Surely father would call- until today, he had always praised xyr love for xyr siblings highly.

 

Of course, he had his own reasons for that, didn’t he?

 

He said he was not afraid xe would be like Loki, but today’s happenings had not borne out his claim. He had questioned xyr actions, not Tony’s. Still, xe regretted using Loki’s face to challenge him. That had been cruel. Unnecessary. Father was often blind to the faults of those he loved. Perhaps it was natural he could most clearly see what was dark in xyr, echos of faults he’d had no choice but confront in Loki. Surely, then, borrowing Loki’s face had not helped matters.

 

Xe flinched at the sudden incursion of a memory often left buried. Xyr last act of true, not simulated violence, some 3 years ago. More painfully, the memory of the subdued horror in xyr fathers eyes, when he had seen the man laying dead at xyr feet. 

 

For that man, there had been no wet snaps. No soft flesh pressing and breaking against flimsy bone. For him, there had been ice, freezing the flesh of his throat, crackling in delicate, brittle lines as xe had sunk xyr fingers in, shattering his windpipe, rather than crushing it. Then, too, xyr hands had recorded the memory more vivedly than xe could account for. Something in xyr flesh clinging to that which xyr mind had wished to reject.

 

The man had deserved his death far more than the twisting, stomach-churning pain xe had felt on his behalf later. A kidnapper, one of those threatening Phil with torture unless he cooperated with their attempts to recreate the technology of Tony’s workshop. 

 

And xyr father had supported xyr actions, praised xyr defense of xyr brother. 

 

To xyr.

 

But he had hidden the information from all the others, buried the dead man in rubble and secrecy.  They did not know xe was already a killer. Perhaps that would further encourage them to believe xe had not intended Tony’s death.

 

Xe felt a tear slip from xyr eye. It almost seemed to burn xyr skin. Xe checked, but xyr hands were still the same, pale pink as xyr father's. They were shaking a little, and still replaying the memory under xyr skin, where the blue was kept. Spongy snaps, like stepping on wet autumn leaves. Xe shuddered. There had been satisfaction there, in causing pain to the man threatening those of xyr brothers who should still have been safe, the man who had left xyr other brother so vulnerable. There had been a rush, nearly a thrill, in knowing xe could destroy him, crush him with the briefest gesture. Neutralize one threat instantly. The same way xe’d done to the man who threatened Phil with torture.

 

It seemed so simple, so easy. The goal was so perfectly clear. Tony was a threat that xe could remove.

 

Only the thin, quiet voice within xyr, protesting in that moment that Tony was merely a weak, frightened, unarmed old man, had stopped xyr. The voice protesting that xe had loved Tony once had done him no favors- xyr affection for him only made his failures more painful. Tony’s returned affection was weak, ineffective, impotent and fickle. He had turned his back on little Jamie. He had turned against Steve. And he had failed Phil so many times.

 

And now, Tony expected Phil to tolerate the incredible vulnerability of deafness without trying to fix himself, when Tony himself had been allowed to fix his own injuries.

 

Only, Phil hadn't succeeded in fixing himself.

 

Well, xe didn’t know that. Just because Phil had looked at death’s door didn’t mean he was still deaf. If he lived, perhaps the procedure would be a success. Then they could put the whole business behind them. As long as he lived.

 

Signe looked up at the large vanity mirror that xe had often used in secret, to practice the illusions of xyr unasked-for birthright, or to examine the deep red eyes that followed xyr rage. Xe stood and crossed to the vanity, resting both hands on its edge, calling up the illusion which had frightened xyr father. Xe allowed Loki's face to replace xyr own. Xe watched him in the mirror. Xyr birth father; killer of countless, would-be killer of billions. Another man who had sometimes hesitated to kill those he had been close to but who, at the end of the day, was a villain and a murderer. 

 

Much was said of how much Phil was like his father, how closely they were linked by their shared bloodline. Much less was said of how closely Jamie resembled his own father, but their similarity of character had long been clear to Signe. Jamie tolerated daily the vulnerability of his weak form without panic, and to Signe that spoke of bravery that must equal the Captain’s. So, too, were they both like their mother, whose diligence and efficiency was the axis on which the whole tower turned. Surely, then, Signe must not be completely unlike Loki. 

 

_No._  Xe was not like Loki.  _Would not_  be like Loki. Xe banished the illusion into flickering gold dust. Xe would stand by xyr brothers, and xyr sister, and defend all of them, come hell or high water. Against anyone,  _anyone_ at all who threatened them. Xe was not a warrior of rage, though rage could fuel xyr. Xe fought only for the defense of those xe loved. 

 

Xe was not Loki. Xe was loyal to xyr brothers, and xe would defend them, whatever the cost. 

 

* * *

 

Phil woke up. Mostly. Sort of. He was mostly sure he was awake, but he wasn’t sure where he was or what he was doing there. Time seemed to be moving strangely. He had a vauge feeling of desperately needing to know something, but he couldn’t figure out what. Some people came -- looming over him and moving their lips strangely, and frowning. They shone bright lights in his eyes before disappearing again. Phil closed his eyes. He didn’t like this. He couldn’t  _think_. His arm hurt, something pricking at it, and one of his legs was stiff and painful and not moving right. He tried to sit up, but found that he couldn’t. He lay back, deciding to rest until things made sense again.

 

He woke again some time later, opening his eyes to what must be a hospital room. There were other beds here, with other people in them, and several medical people moving about their business. 

 

He still didn’t hear anything. He frantically looked around the room for something that should be making noise. Maybe if he found one sound to try to focus on, he’d be able to make something out. At least a little scrap of sound. Something to show any progress. Any at all. There was a woman in a lab coat talking to a man in scrubs a few feet away. He stared at her, straining, trying to make out a voice.

 

Nothing. He couldn’t hear any of it. Not the tiniest whisper of sound. He shut his eyes against the silent scene unfolding. Fuck.

 

It was over and he’d failed. That was it. It was over. Now he’d failed and lived. He was denied any escape from the cage his life had suddenly turned into.

 

It was getting hard to breathe -- he couldn’t seem to get any air into his lungs; his chest felt too tight. His eyes burned with tears as the panic rose. He tried to pull up his hands, cover his face, hide from this room full of strangers, but he couldn’t pull his hands up. Couldn’t turn on his side. Straps held down his wrists, his chest, his legs. It was too close to too many nightmares and abductions. He pulled on the straps, but they wouldn’t budge. He was trapped.

 

He felt air squeezing out of his lungs, probably making noise. Possibly screaming. His face flushed with humiliation, but he couldn’t hide that either.

 

But why the hell not? Let them see. Why even bother to hide it? He wasn’t anyone of importance now. Not the Stark heir. Not anyone who even belonged in his home. Why should anyone care? He let the air push out of his lungs, let his mouth open. He gave up on appearances and let the screams and sobs tear out of him.

 

* * *

 

Jamie fidgeted with his backpack as the man ahead of him in line to speak to the receptionist walked away. The bored older woman behind the desk gave him a critical once-over before speaking. She managed to sound at once bored and condescending. "Can I help you?"

 

Jamie tried to keep his voice down. "I’m here for Phil. Phil Stark? I heard he was transferred up here." He glanced at the sign above the door that read BEHAVIORAL INPATIENT UNIT, thankful that there wasn’t anything left in his stomach from earlier. Empty stomachs were a little better for nausea. "I’m his brother. I need to give him his tablet, or he can’t understand anyone."

 

Her expression was unchanged. "I’m sorry Mr. Stark. But we don’t allow unattended minors on the floor."

 

This was frustrating. "I’m not Mister Stark. Mister Stark is somewhere else, because of his broken collar bone. I’m James Rogers. His brother.  _Phil’s_  brother."

 

She suppressed an eyeroll, but just barely. "I’m sorry, Mr.  _Rogers_ , but we still can’t allow unattended minors on the floor. You’ll have to wait for an adult."

 

This wasn’t frustrating, this was infuriating. Phil was in there, all alone, with no way to talk to anyone including the doctors, and what were they going to accomplish in a place like this without being able to talk to Phil? "Then can I at least give you this?" He pulled the tablet out of his backpack. "And then you can give it to him?"

 

"I can give it to the treatment team to decide what to do with it," she said with a sigh, trying to get him to just go away.

 

"But he can’t  _hear_  anything without this. He has to have it." Jamie’s voice was raising, just a little. "What the heck are you going to do for him if he can’t hear you?" He was trying to keep calm, he  _was_ , but it wasn’t working very well. He was starting to wonder if there was any adult anywhere who was going to step up and either help Phil or let Jamie do it.

 

"Young man, if you continue to escalate, I’m going to have to ask you to leave this unit." Now she managed to sound bored, condescending, and annoyed.

 

Jamie opened his mouth to reply, and shut it with a snap, realizing he had nothing else he could say that wasn’t likely to get him kicked out. He turned and stalked away from the line. He walked around the corner, out of the line of site of that awful woman, and leaned against the wall. He felt tears in his eyes and God, shouldn’t those be done yet? That felt like all he was doing today. He scrubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand and suppressed an embarrassingly childish sniffle.

 

He set his jaw, and took a couple deep breaths. He tried to steel himself for talking to the nurse again, when a voice stopped him.

 

"James? James Potts-Rogers?" Jamie looked up at a slimish man, very expensively dressed, about Tony’s age, with thinning, light-brown hair and a scar on his jaw, looking at him with concern. Jamie eyed the stranger warily as he approached a few more steps. His voice was saccharine. "Is that you? My gosh, how old are you now?"

 

"I don’t…" Jamie started. He didn’t recognize this guy at all.

 

"Sorry, sorry. Yeah, you wouldn’t recognize me. It’s been ages since I was around here. I’m an old associate of Anthony’s and Pepper’s.” He looked Jamie over. Jamie really wished he hadn’t been crying just now. "Looks…like things aren’t going too well right now."

 

Jamie looked away. He didn’t know this guy, and he sure as hell didn’t want to explain to him about what was going on.

 

He continued talking. "I was really sorry to hear about Phil. It’s always a tragedy when someone as special as…Well, I was sorry to hear about his loss. I’m sure he’ll learn to work around it in time." Jamie blinked. So the stranger knew about Phil. "Look, I don’t want to seem too, well, too forward, but is there anything I can do to help out? I’m guessing Tony and Pepper are absent for a reason, but you dealing with this alone, that’s not right. I know you don’t remember me, but if there’s some little thing I can do to help… I know that sometimes it just takes a guy with a little cash and a nice suit to make problems go away, right? I’d be happy to help out any son of Pepper’s,  _no problem_."

 

Jamie looked at the man. He looked like someone mom would know. Cocky, too poised, too casual, dressed far too well for a place like this. He’d also clearly already figured out what Jamie was doing here. "I…I’m just trying to get this tablet inside."

 

"That tablet? Right now? Wow, those Starks sure never stop working, do they. Oooh. No that’s, that’s for his disability, isn’t it?" he pointed at the tablet, his other hand in his pocket. "I guess even Tony’s son couldn’t learn ASL in, what, three weeks? So he needs that to communicate?"

 

Jamie didn’t see any reason or way to deny it now. He nodded.

 

"And they won’t let you bring it in? That’s not right. That’s a reasonable accommodation. Here, may I? Let me. I’m sure I can get this taken care of. He needs this."

 

Jamie hesitated, but this was just a tablet with a program on it that Tony had saved at home. It wasn’t precious in and of itself. He reluctantly handed the tablet over. 

 

The man smiled at him. "Thanks a lot. I’ll make sure he gets it." He started heading over to the receptionist. "Tell your mom I said hi, ok?" he added.

 

Sure enough, within a few moments he was crossing into the locked ward, tablet in hand. Hopefully Phil would get it alright. He realized he’d forgotten to ask the guy his name. He wouldn’t know who to tell mom had helped out. He sighed. They weren’t going to let him in. He should probably go find mom. Maybe she’d calmed down enough to come up and see Phil now.

 

* * *

 

Phil was exhausted. He lay on the hospital bed with his eyes closed, still trying to catch his breath. His throat hurt, his face was still wet, partly from tears and partly snot. His head was killing him, and his knee was still hot and throbbing. He didn’t even dare open his eyes. He didn’t want to see the stares from the people around him.

 

He felt a minor weight settle on his chest carefully. Something like a pad of paper, or a computer tablet. Against his better judgment, he opened one sore and swollen eye. This was a different ceiling than last time. He managed to look down at his chest. It was his tablet. The one he used for pretending not to be broken. He turned his head to the side and saw a total stranger. Not a doctor or medical professional. He was wearing a suit with a vest and an old-fashioned gold watch. His face seemed almost familiar. 

 

He was smiling. What the hell. Smiling like he was at a press conference.

 

Phil looked back up at the ceiling, acutely aware of what a disgusting, crusty mess he was. He looked at the other side of the room. There was no-one else in it. His was the only bed. Still no sign of anyone he actually knew. Where were they?

 

His heart sped up. He was restrained, deaf, injured and alone with some random asshole who was  _smiling_  at him. He jumped as a hand touched his arm, and looked at the stranger. The man gestured to his wrist, eyebrows up. Phil just stared at him. The man started undoing the restraint. Oh god yes. As soon as the buckle was off, Phil pulled up his arm. The guy undid his other wrist, then his chest. Phil sat up, rubbing the snot off his face with the sheets. The stranger moved to his ankles, and Phil was at least free to move again. He swung his legs around off the bed, not caring that it hurt, clutching the tablet to keep it from landing on the floor. His knee was tightly wrapped, but at least he could bend it.

 

The stranger pulled up a chair by the bed and sat down, facing Phil. Who the hell was this guy? He was just so…calm. And still fucking smiling, but with abstract sympathy, as if Phil’s puppy had just run away. Phil watched him a minute, waiting. Whoever this guy was, he’d at least let Phil up.

 

Oh. Right.

 

Phil sighed, closed his eyes for a minute, and booted up the  _fucking_ tablet, opening the translation software. He looked back at the man.

 

**MAN 1: Hi there. Your brother mentioned to me that you might be needing that. Just thought I’d swing by and bring it to you. Especially since I was hoping to meet with you in the near future.**

 

He looked at Phil. Five minutes ago, Phil has been screaming and crying and he hadn’t cared who heard. But this guy, this guy was from the world Phil wanted. He practically reeked of Fortune 500 companies and high-end tech. And he was here to see Phil.

 

But why was he here to see Phil  _now?_  Why  _here_? He rubbed his face again, and tried to sit up normally. He still felt shaky, and slowed down. The core of confidence that had always sustained him, right at the center of him, was burnt out. He tried not to let it show.

 

The man continued:  **Man 1: My name is Justin Hammer. And yes, before you ask, yes _that_ Justin Hammer.**  _  
_

_That_ Justin Hammer? Who the hell was  _that_ Justin Hammer? He seemed to be expecting some kind of reaction. 

 

Wait, wait. Justin Hammer. Rich guy. Hammer Tech Enterprises. The guy who broke out that crazy Russian that tried to kill dad. Where was dad? Phil was sitting here in a room with one of his father’s old nemeses, by himself, in paper pajamas, with snot on his face, probably losing his mind. Where was everybody? He looked the guy over. He didn’t seem real intimidating, just a guy who used to be skinny, with a good suit, cut to make him seem bigger than he was. If they were standing, Phill would be taller than him. He smelled vaguely of cigaretts and had a scar on one cheek, but other than that, he could have been anyone on the higher end of Stark Industries's marketing team.

 

**Man 1: I understand that I made several grevious mistakes the last time I interacted with your family, and I don’t mind telling you that they have cost me _dearly_. However, I do feel compelled to point out that once I realized Venko's plan, I did cooperate with your mom and the authorities to bring him down. I never intended to do anything more nefarious than build the best tech and make a bid for a large, lucrative contract. That’s all.**

 

**I’m a buisnessman, Phil. May I call you Phil? I’m not a supervillain, not a bad guy. I’m a businessman and an engineer, like you. And it’s in both those capacities that I’d like to talk to you today. Because _I_  think we can help one another.**

 

What was this guy’s problem. He’d given Phil the tablet. He knew the nanites wouldn’t work. Hadn’t worked.

 

**I saw your paper recently on nanites, and I was very, very impressed. I thought it was just…just heartbreaking to hear what happened to you after you wrote it. I cannot tell you what a relief it was to me when I heard your mind was unaffected. A brilliant intellect like yours, that would be just a shame. A real shame.**

 

If this sarcastic bastard didn’t stop talking soon, Phil was going to break the tablet on his face. He glanced up at Hammer, who was doing his best to radiate professional, restrained sympathy. For all his fakeness, there was no sign of sarcasm on him.

 

**But what I want to talk to you about now, Phil, is your future. A future that I would like to be a part of. Clearly, your most recent experiment, well, it didn’t go the way you wanted it to. But that’s ok. Hey, I’m not judging you for it. It’s _preliminary testing_. There’s going to be some bumps in the road. That’s ok. But I believe in what you're trying to do. And, what's more, I believe that you are the man to make it happen. I believe in  _you_.**

 

Phil looked at Hammer. He was still radiating sympathetic concern.

 

**So, what I want to do today, if I may, is to offer you something I think you sorely need. _Freedom_. Tony, he’s a great guy. Don’t get me wrong, I respect him. But as a father, well, I’m sure he has his little…quirks. Idiosyncrasies. Growing up in his shadow, well, hey, all I can say is I wouldn’t want to do it. But you did. **

 

**Right now, what I want to tell you is that you don’t have to.**

 

**Phil, I’d like to offer you a job. Hammer Industries currently has no nanorobotics program. I would like you to build us one, from the ground up. I want to _invest_  in _you_. And whatever administrative, financial, or legal assistance you need to make your dream, your  _technology_  a reality, I have the resources to get it for you.**

 

Phil was caught completely flatfooted. This guy was serious. A job. A department. Built to his specifications, so it wouldn’t matter if he needed to use the tablet at first. He wouldn’t need Stark Industries. He wouldn’t have to rely on pity or nepotism. He wouldn’t need to somehow convince Tony to let him have access to his building materials again. He wouldn’t even need to go to college. He could just...work. And this time he could have all the time, the resources, to get it done right. Maybe, if he’d had more time to work on the scanning systems…

 

Maybe he wouldn’t have to be a complete, broken, abject failure before even hitting eighteen.

 

And he wouldn’t have to stick around and wreak havok on his family and watch it fall apart. Maybe, eventually, once he’d gotten it right, he could even go home. But until then he wouldn’t have to see any of them. No hovering or pity or guilty, sad looks when they thought he wasn’t looking.

 

**I can see your taking my proposal seriously. That’s good. I’d really like to have you on board, Phil. I notice that your birthday is coming up here -- just over 15 days, isn’t it? Remind me to give you a nice little birthday bonus, in addition to your signup bonus. If, that is, you think you’d like to take advantage of my offer.**

 

He should think about this. There was a downside. There was obviously a downside. Or maybe this was even a trap. Ok, there was a very good chance that this was a trap. Probably a trap.

 

He found himself nodding. If it was a trap, he’d off himself instead of being the bait. If it wasn’t, he’d be free. 

 

Hammer broke into a wide smile. **Yeah? That’s great! Really, I cannot tell you just how happy that makes me. It’s gonna be just a real pleasure working with you, I can tell. I’m looking forward to it.**

 

Hammer stood, and put a too-familiar hand on Phil's shoulder. Phil choked down the instinct to flinch away.  **Tell you what, why don’t I get you a condo as part of that signing bonus? Guessing you're anxious to strike out on your own. I can’t have my head of nanorobotics living out of a suitcase, can I now? I’ll arrange everything, nice and close to work. Sound good? Ok. Great!**

 

He actually did seem excited. And only one thing was going to get a guy like this this excited -- the prospect of profit. He really, honestly thought Phil was going to succeed. The idea was…like breathing again after three weeks. Real, tangible backup to help him succeed.

 

Phil nodded again. This was good. Good enough, anyways. Even if it failed, he’d be out of the tower.

 

He was still exhausted. Still feeling…fairly humilliated. And yeah, his leg was killing him. But dear god, this was better than nothing. If it worked, he’d still get almost everything he wanted.

 

Hammer patted him on the arm like they were old pals.  **Fantastic. All right. Just meet me at our New York headquarters on your birthday. I’ll take you out to dinner. Give me a text if you need a ride, I’ll send someone around**. Phil nodded again numbly.  **Ok. I’ll see you, sir, in 15 days. Rest up. I’m sure you’re gonna want to hit the ground running once we get started.**  

 

And he was gone, strutting out the door. Phil sat there, staring after him. It wasn’t over yet. He still had a chance.

 

***

 

Pepper had been wandering the hospital grounds for several hours, stopping every hour or so for another coffee to go at the hospital café area. It was terrible coffee, but she clutched the most recent cup in one hand. Jamie had found her at one point, supportive and uncharacteristically calm, and she’d been grateful. She was starting to feel like she had a limited amount of herself left to give, and she’d silently thanked him for not asking anything of her now. He, at least, was safe.

 

She felt ashamed of having walked out on Tony and Steve in the waiting room but she just - just couldn’t deal with them right now. But now her guilt was getting heavy enough to tip the balance, outweighing her need to get away for a while. It was past time to check on how Phil was doing. She made her way back to the waiting room again, but stopped in the doorway. Steve was there, alone. He looked up from where he sat as she entered.

 

"Where’s Tony?" How could he do this?  _Again_? Where the hell was he? She tried to calm herself down, at least until she had all the information. She’d been walking the grounds. Just because Tony wasn’t here, in this room, didn’t mean he’d left, gone home, started drinking…

 

Steve's eyes flicked down briefly before he looked back to her "He’s in the ER."

 

Pepper’s eyes widened. "The- ER? Why?" The memory of Tony trying to insitigate a fight with one of the doctors while she was in labor with Phil sprang instantly to mind. Had some hospital orderly reacted to Tony’s franticness with -- but no, some hospital orderly wasn’t going to be able to hurt Tony --

 

Steve wrung his hands, looking down again and then back up. "He’s got a broken collarbone and…some frostbite. I told him to go get it looked at. Dealt with. Then come back. He’s not back yet. It could be a while."

 

"Oh," she said, not really understanding. She came the rest of the way into the room, sitting down in the chair by the door. Steve quietly waited for her to get her mind in order. "Phil?" she inquired, too tired to formulate a more specific request.

 

She felt an immediate spike of alarm when the quiet anger and frustration on Steve’s face gave way to much more open anger, which he quickly managed to force back into a more neutral, controlled look. His voice was still tight with the feeling she had glimpsed. "We’ve got a problem there. They say they’re worried about his mental health. That because of what he did, he should be watched more carefully."

 

Pepper hated the thought of Phil, her baby, having to be in a...mental crisis ward, but... "Well. Yeah. Ok. That makes sense."

 

Steve's jaw worked for a second before he spoke. "But they won’t keep him. They say he’s a ‘risk’. To the other hospital patrons. 'Cause of who he is. They say the facility isn’t ‘secure’ enough, and they won’t take him."

 

She didn’t know what to say to that. Phil was depressed and maybe suicidal and hurt and he’d had a seizure and nerve damage and had gone deaf all in the last month, and the hospital wouldn’t help him. But that's what hospitals were  _for._.. 

 

No, this made sense. This was why they had released him so quickly last time, too. It almost had to be.

 

Steve continued, "I offered to set up patrols -- get the team down here to help monitor, but…"

 

"I see," Pepper said, cutting him off. So, this was gratitude. The Avengers, the family, had put up with all kinds of injuries and disabilities, fear and pain, protecting the world, and now, when her family needed medical help for her son, they couldn’t even do that. Not that one thing. "He’s coming home then. Today?" she asked, her voice close enough to level to keep Steve from commenting on it. 

 

Steve nodded. "Is that ok?" he asked.

 

She didn’t look at him. "No. Why, does that matter?" She wished it would. That she could say ‘this isn’t ok’ to them, and they would understand, and they would help. But that wasn’t going to happen, and she didn’t have extra energy to spare fighting about things that wouldn’t change. Not right now. Later, when she was calmer, there would be  _repercussions_ for their actions today.

 

"I guess not," he said, quietly.

 

She stood. "Then I’ll go call Natasha. Have her clean up their rooms. Tony -- will have to stay in the workshop." Because Phil and Jamie deserved their respective rooms back. And the tower still wasn’t repaired from the last horrible thing. And Tony -- hadn’t removed the damn nanites, and she just couldn’t look at him right now. She wasn’t even sure how she was going to talk to Phil.

 

"Is he awake?" she asked. He nodded. "Has anyone been up to see him yet?"

 

He looked ashamed, and shook his head. "I didn’t know that he’d want to see me. And Tony is downstairs. I’m sorry." Which meant that Pepper should go see him.

 

She didn’t want to. God help her, she didn’t want to. A wash of shame rolled over her at the thought, but she really, truly didn’t want to see Phil right now. Even though he was hurting, and scared. She was just…so angry at him. She’d be angry at anyone who risked Phil’s life for any reason. Evidently, that included Phil. 

 

She looked down at the nearly empty styrofoam cup in her hands. "I’ll just…go get one more cup of coffee first," she said. Steve nodded. She got up to leave, but paused at the door. "Why was Tony’s collarbone broken?" she asked, hand on the doorknob, not turning around.

 

There was a long pause. "Signe broke it. But you don’t have to worry about that right now. We can deal with that later."

 

She paused, nodded, and left. Later.

 

She would cope with this. She would cope with this because she didn’t see any alternative. She would just keep going, and hope that eventually things would get better. She just had to think of this as a temporary crisis. Eventually, some new normalcy would take over. She was just going to keep putting one foot in front of the other until that happened. Because there just wasn’t any other option. If she did anything else, the crisis would just be sitting there, growing while she broke down.

 

She bought another cup of coffee, earning a strange look from the barista, and resisted the temptation to put off going to the psych unit until she’d finished it. It was time to face him. She found the floor, the wing, and checked in. She managed to avoid glaring daggers at the woman behind the reception desk for being part of the system that was refusing to help her son. A nurse brought her back to a small white room, and left, closing the door behind him.

 

Phil was sitting up, his feet over the edge of the bed. He looked at her when she entered. The tablet Jamie’d told her he’d delivered was sitting next to him. She almost wished Jamie hadn’t brought it. She wouldn’t have to think about what to say to him, then. Phil looked calm. Just like he had yesterday, and the day before, and nearly every day since this had all started. Just as calm as he’d looked the whole time he was planning to risk his life and her heart over this. Even his calmness was a source of panic for her now. She couldn’t trust it. Couldn’t trust herself to read him.

 

She wasn’t a cold mother, was she? Phil knew how much she loved him -- he had to. So he couldn’t possibly have not known what his death, right under her nose, would do to her. But that hadn’t been enough to stop him. It didn’t even seem to have been enough to slow him down. There were tears in her eyes, and she tried to blink them away without spilling them. If she started in on that, she didn’t know how long it might take her to stop.

 

God, he was just like Tony.  _Just_ like Tony. Running off and doing whatever he decided he needed to do without one thought about how it would affect the people that cared about him. Without letting anyone help him.

 

Phil hesitated, and picked up the tablet.

 

What should she say? What  _could_  she say? Maybe she should have the hard talk now, while there was backup, if he took it badly. But then, how helpful were these people anyways? Was there any point in waiting, other than Pepper’s own profound fatigue? Was tiredness enough of a reason not to tell your son that he had nearly given you a heart attack doing something stupid and irresponsible and that he had better not do it ever again?

 

Phil was looking at her, steadily. He put the tablet back down, realizing she wasn’t speaking. Now, regret or something like it crept into his expression. He made a small coughing sound. "Sorry, mom." His voice was raspy and dry, but that was the first thing she’d actually heard him say with his own voice since the attack. He wasn’t looking at her, but he sounded sincere.

 

That did her in. She covered her mouth with her hands and let the tears come. She went over to the bed and wrapped her arms around him. He shrank away from her briefly, but she wasn’t about to let go, and after a moment he put his arms around her and rested his head on her shoulder. She squeezed him tight, rocking a little as if he was still small. He didn’t cry; he’d probably already done that while she was selfishly avoiding him, if he’d even felt the need to. She let herself cry -- let him see at least some of what this had done to her, so he’d know to never, ever try anything like that again.

 

After a few minutes, she let him go, and pulled back to look him in the face. He didn’t want to look her in the eye, which she took for guilt. Which was fine. Any sign that he wouldn’t do that again was welcome in her eyes. She kissed his forehead. He smiled weakly. She hugged him once more before reaching behind her for his tablet and handing it to him.

 

"I’ll go see about getting you checked out of here. We may have to wait a little while for Tony, but you're coming home tonight. Did the doctors talk to you yet?" He read the tablet, and nodded without looking up. "They told you that you would be alright?" He nodded again. "Do you need to talk to them anymore?" He shook his head. "Do you need anything else before I go check you out?" Another head shake. 

 

She wished he’d talk again, but one step at a time. "Ok, I’ll go get started, and I’ll see you soon." Another nod.

 

So that was it. The other shoe had dropped, and everyone had survived it. Barely, maybe, but they’d survived it. Now all she had to do was hold on. Keep going, until things were bearable again.


	10. Chapter 10

Clint decided that "bleak" was really the best way to describe the tone of the tower in the almost week since Phil’s attempt. It was bleak. Bleak and quiet.

 

He watched Pepper drink her morning coffee. She’d respond if he talked to her. Two days ago she'd carried on a whole conversation about cooking shows with him. But it was all autopilot. Pepper Potts was not at home. 

 

It was her birthday. But he couldn’t bring himself to acknowledge it in front of her. “Happy Birthday” was too empty a thing to say to someone with such hollowness in their eyes. Her hair, makeup and clothes were all flawless, she went to work, she ate. He didn't know if she slept. 

 

She didn't ask how he was doing. Or how Alma was doing. She didn't ask about anyone. 

 

He had no formal, _nameable_ relationship to Pepper, so he felt like maybe it shouldn't matter so much. But it did.

 

Clint glanced over at Jamie, on the couch. Pepper hadn't said a word to her younger son since Clint had come over. He couldn't tell if that was out of anger, or if she was just that shut down. He hadn’t even had any indication that anyone had really had _the talk_ with Phil yet. She looked as burnt out as any field agent he'd ever known, clearly on her last legs.

 

Clint leaned in, pitching his voice low, trying to offer her a little privacy, trying one more time to engage her before she disappeared downstairs. "Seriously, Pepper. How’re you holding up?" He tried to put as much sincerity, as much genuine concern as he could into his voice. Either he or Nat came by every day, making their rounds in the otherwise silent, still tower. Making sure every apartment got at least one visitor checking in, keeping the lines of communication from shutting down entirely outside of mission reports. Even those had been all digital. 

 

She met his eyes, gave him a smile that didn't try to be cheerful, and maintained a careful barrier between them. "Same as yesterday. It's been pretty quiet around here."

 

Which was verbatim what she'd said yesterday, and pretty damn close to what she'd told Nat the day before. A polite acceptance of the situation, and that's it.

 

He kept getting the urge to try and bait her into reinvesting. To try and make her care. Pepper and Steve were both like Coulson had been; at their base, they had this shepherding instinct. Now both had withdrawn, had given up keeping their flock in their line of sight. Clint couldn't shake the feeling they might lose a few. 

 

But he couldn't bring himself to do it- to try to pull her back. He understood the value of retreating into yourself if that was the only way to get some space, some rest. He couldn't begrudge her that. Clint was still mad at Phil- that he'd taken advantage of their trust in him like this. He thought he might understand the urge more than, say, Pepper probably did. Clint'd been broken enough before to consider a shortcut out rather than dragging himself through the painful work of repair or adjustment. 

 

But he didn't think Pepper'd ever been there. Even now, with hollow, sunken eyes, her back was straight and the only sign other than her expression that something was wrong was that her nails were a bit chipped up. He hadn't seen Phil yet today. Pepper said he slept a lot.

 

Pepper blinked at the clock. "Oh. I should get downstairs," to work. Maybe that felt more normal to her. She normally took her birthday off. Alma was angry she hadn’t been allowed up to see her, today. But he didn’t want his girl to see the closest thing she had to a mom like this- unreachable, detached. 

 

“Sure.” He agreed, trying not to put his anxiety on her. “I’m gonna hang out, I need to talk to Steve, if that’s ok.”

She nodded, silently, standing and gathering her purse. He wondered how long she could keep this up. What would happen if she couldn't anymore. Would she be like Phil, keeping her impending crash a secret, refusing any real help?

She left without looking behind at Clint or at Jamie.

 

Clint drummed his fingers on the table. He turned, about to talk to Jamie, when Steve appeared. Second day in a row he showed up exactly as Pepper left. Cap at least seemed marginally more mentally present, but he also looked like, at any given second, he was trying really hard not to kill something. As soon as Steve walked in, Jamie was engrossed in his tablet.

 

Steve offered a short, quiet greeting. Clint nodded in return. Steve's avoidance of Pepper at least gave him the opportunity to deliver this message where she wouldn't have to hear it. "Stark wants to talk to you. Up in the workshop."

 

Steve took a split second to consider it, then nodded. Then took a second to skim his eyes over Jamie on the couch, and the hallway down to where Phil was sleeping. He hesitated. Clint was unspeakably glad of it.

 

So, Steve and Pepper were taking it in shifts, then. Physically staying near their own kids, at least. And here, he could help. He was surprised to hear Jamie’s voice before he had a chance to speak up. “It’s ok, pop. I’ll call you if there’s anything.”

 

Steve hesitated another moment, and gave Jamie an uncomfortably intense look that had withered hardened soldiers. Jamie’s head was tilted down, but he met his dads eyes. Steve gave one slow, but decided nod, and left. 

 

Clint looked at Jamie, who was watching the closed door. He looked at Clint, gauging, before asking. "What did Tony want?"

 

Clint shrugged. "Nat says it sounds like he wants to make up. Personally, I think he should be talking to you about that, but I'm guessing Steve won't let you near Tony until they have it worked out between themselves."

 

Jamie rolled his eyes. Clint raised an eyebrow. "Don't think he should bother?"

 

"I guess I get it." Jamie admitted grudgingly.

 

"So, uhm. Couldn't help but notice you seem to be getting the silent treatment around here."

 

"Kind of, yeah. I mean, everybody is, but yeah."

 

"Grounded?"

 

"I haven't asked."

 

Probably a good idea on Jamie’s part. "How are you holding up?"

 

Jamie’s eyes dropped to the carpet, and he gave a small shrug before mumbling, "I dunno."

 

Clint stood, meandering over slowly to the couch before sitting down. "You ok?"

 

Another shrug. "I guess."

 

"It's ok if you're not, you know."

 

Jamie managed a wry, nearly bitter expression. "Well, I think I'm doing better than most of us, so. You know."

 

Clint’s very small laugh was entirely humorless. "Yeah, maybe." He paused. "Where are you at with Stark?" Because Clint wanted everyone getting along again, but if Jamie needed someone to tell Steve that he wasn't up to dealing with Tony yet, Clint could be that guy.Without question.

 

This had Jamie's attention a little more, and he looked at Clint. "Have you seen him?"

 

Clint hesitated. He hadn't. Not since the day he'd driven them all home from the hospital. And Tony had been wheelchair bound and still coming down from anesthesia when they'd discharged him- another one of their own booted out from medical care too early. Made him almost miss SHEILD. Tony’d been too dazed for Clint to get a read on him, but he had noticed that Tony'd been wearing Steve's overshirt, and that Jamie had been keeping a watchful eye on the man. 

 

"No. Nat’s been keeping an eye on him." Jamie nodded, morosely. "So-?" Clint prompted.

 

Jamie shrugged again, leaning back against the couch. "I dunno. I'm ok, I guess."

 

“I’ll say it again- it’s ok if you're not. You don’t have to forgive him right away, or at all. You don’t have to be ok with this, pretend like nothing happened to keep the peace.”

 

Jamie shook his head wearily. "I'm ok. I don't think Tony meant to hurt me, would have hurt me. And I don't think it'll happen again," he shrugged again. "I just bruise like a banana is all.”

 

"You don't have to make excuses for him."

 

"I'm not. I just really don't think Tony'd hurt me. He never has before and...  it can’t have looked that bad, like I was in that much danger. If it’d looked like he was going to do more than he did, you would have stopped him before Signe even got there. You know it wasn’t that bad.”

 

Clint felt his face twist in a grimace. He hated that he hadn't done anything. He'd been monitoring Phil, true, but he wished he'd handled the whole thing better, kept things from spiraling so out of control. Again, Clint tried to bring sincerity to the forefront. "I'm sorry about that."

 

"It's fine. I was just freaked out. I'm ok now."

 

"Looked pretty scared."

 

"I was. But mostly for Phil. Now I just feel... guilty.”

 

Clint didn’t have much to say to that. Guilt sucked, but it was good for you. Kept you from making the same mistake twice. “Well, you’re not alone, there.”

 

Jamie looked back down again. “I guess. Is Alma ok?”

 

“Rattled. Not happy, but she’ll get through.”

 

Jamie nodded. “Me too.”

 

"Phil?"

 

"Eating. Sleeping. I don't know. He's not talking or wearing his glasses. Mom told you the follow-up appointments keep showing no brain damage?”

 

Clint nodded. He also knew that Steve had been the one to take him to the appointment, and that Phil had spoken almost exclusively to the doctors, rather than Steve. “Keep trying with him, ok?”

 

Another nod, not a hopeful one. “I will.”

 

* * *

 

Tony was back in the workshop. He was finding, between the painkillers, the pain leftover after the painkillers, the restricted motion because of the broken collarbone, and his own overall sense of dysregulation, that he wasn’t actually able to get much _work_ done, but being in Banner’s old suite had gotten… uncomfortable. It was just a little too on-the-nose at the moment.Everywhere he looked was a reminder that he hadn’t spoken to Bruce yet. Just another person he should, theoretically be able to reach, but couldn’t actually talk to. Like…well…everyone, actually. Everyone but Natasha. Either he couldn’t bear to talk to them, or they couldn’t stand to talk to him, or, in the case of Alma, they were being kept away by someone he had no right to criticize for it.

 

Natasha came by, once a day, as part of the rounds she and Clint were making of the tower, although he never actually _saw_ Clint.She only came by briefly, and didn’t say a lot. Enough for him to know he wasn’t the only one who’d retreated to their own space. He wasn’t sure if she was checking in for her own peace of mind, for Tony’s, or even if she was reporting back to someone else. He hadn’t wanted to ask. Instead, he’d asked her for a favor, testing the lines of communication.

 

He heard the elevator door behind him for the second time that day, and tried to mentally prepare himself. He turned to face it just as the elevator doors opened, and Steve stepped off. He looked… reserved. This was the first time he’d seen him in days- since Phil’s attempt.

 

“Hi,” Tony started.

 

“Clint said you wanted to see me?” His voice was just as restrained and professional as his appearance. Polite. Precise. Practically at parade rest. Exactly like they hadn’t been living together for 16 years. But he was here. He’d come.

 

“Yeah. Figured it was time we talked. I know I owe you… well, an explanation, anyways. You wanna sit?” Tony gestured at the other end of the couch.

 

His heart sank as even Steve’s reserved politeness cracked and showed the anger underneath. He made sure not to wince away. Steve sounded angrier than he looked “An explanation? You really think you can explain this one.” He took a few steps towards the couch and Tony, but stopped.

 

“Look, just, please, sit down. And I’ll explain.” Tony tried to keep his own voice pleasant and relaxed. He’d figured that if Steve actually came up that he’d be willing to listen. Was he wrong?

 

“No.” Steve responded, not coming any closer. Tony’s shoulders clenched. Which hurt. “No, Tony, you can’t explain this one away.”

 

“I’m not trying to- look, Steve, just _sit down_.”

 

Steve still hesitated. Was it still too soon for this? He’d been afraid to let it go any longer. But, after a moments wavering Steve crossed the rest of the distance and sat on the far end of the couch. His jaw was tight and he kept flexing his hands discreetly, trying to keep them out of fists. Tony tried to give him a moment to settle in, and was surprised when Steve spoke. “Please don’t try to make any excuses.”

 

Uhm. Well, he had been planning to try to make excuses, actually. But those were all he had. “I figured I owed you an explanation for why I haven’t come down to apologize yet.”

 

“This isn’t going to be an apology?” Steve shifted in his seat. He looked ready to get up and bolt out of the room at any moment.

 

“Well, not _exactly_ , no-“ he started, and Steve bounced to his feet. _Shit._ When was the last time Steve had been angry enough at him not to even hear him out? Especially after several days? Maybe it had been too many days. Tony wasn’t sure. He knew he wasn’t good at this. He knew he didn’t want Steve to go.

 

“You think you can do this without apologizing-“ Steve started.

 

“That’s not what I said.” Tony was starting to get pissed off. What had Rogers even come up here if he wasn’t willing to listen?

 

“You just said your not apologizing.” Steve didn’t raise his voice, but it was just as angry and hurt as if he had.

 

“No, I said _this_ isn’t going to be an apology. Which, I mean it kind of actually is, just not for- look, just please, sit back down.” Tony tried to keep the anger out of his own voice. For once he was trying not to make Steve angrier with him, and it wasn’t working.

 

“I don’t think I have anything to say to you now.” Steve spit out. He took several long, stiff strides back towards the elevator. Shit. _Shit shit shit._

 

“I don’t know how.” Tony said, hoping to cut through the furious monologue that must be playing in Steve’s head by now. Steve paused, and that was some relief. He was waiting for Tony to elaborate. “I tried. I have no idea how to apologize for this.” Steve turned back to face him, but made no move to approach. Tony didn’t look directly at him. “I did try though. I even tried writing it down to work it out. On paper, even. That stupid legal pad. I have _no_ idea.”

 

Steve took one step back towards him, at least engaging. He didn’t say anything. Tony continued, “That’s what I’ve been doing up here, mostly, since we got back. I figured, after five days, I should give you some kind of status report.” He suspected Steve would be more likely than Pepper to at least come up here.

 

“It’s been six.” Steve sounded a little less angry. Still angry, but a little less.

 

“I don’t count the first one. Anesthesia fucks me up a surprising amount. When we got back I pretty much just crashed for the rest of the day. So I can’t say I was working on this then.”

 

“So the holdup is…” Steve prompted.

 

Tony turned his body to face him, gesturing helplessly with his good arm. “I have no idea what the hell I’m supposed to say. ‘I’m sorry’ isn’t going to cut it on this one. And, as you pointed out, I can’t explain it away either.”

 

“But, you are.” It hadn’t quite been a question. But there was a defiant invitation to confirm there.

 

“Sorry? Of _course_ I am. There are very few things I’ve been more sorry for in my life. And you know my rap sheet, so that should mean something to you.”

 

Steve actually came back towards the couch. His shoulders had relaxed some, as had some of the precision in his posture. It was disconcerting what a relief that was. Tony took that as a sign to continue. “But as for how the hell to apologize for it, I have no idea. I know you’re not going to let it go as easily as Jamie did. And you should talk to him about that, by the way. He let me off way to easily. Not that I’m complaining.”

 

Steve sat back down on the couch, this time not as far as possible away from Tony. “You apologized to Jamie? When? He’s not supposed to be leaving the floor.”

 

Tony looked at Steve. This was a surprise “Wow, you _are_ mad at him. You’re giving Jamie the silent treatment too? I’d assumed he’d already told you.” Steve winced, looking away. “I apologized to him in the hospital. Ran into him on the way to the ER. He actually got the EMTs for me. Entirely too forgiving, that kid. Again, not that I’m complaining.”

 

Steve was still looking away. Now he looked guilty. “I didn’t know that.” There was a moment of silence. “I’m still mad about this, Tony.”

 

“Yeah. I assumed. But, like I said. This isn’t a real apology. More of a notice of an apology in progress. Well, in development. I’m working on it.”

 

Steve let out a breath, leaning back against the couch. “But you are sorry.”

“Yes. Jesus, come on. I’m not that far gone.”

“And you did apologize to Jamie.”

“Six days ago, yes.”

“Are you still angry at him? For helping Phil?” Steve was looking up at the ceiling, seeming unsure if he wanted an answer.

Tony hesitated before giving it. “Yes.”

Apparently that was the right answer though. Steve nodded, and appeared to collect himself. He looked at Tony. “Ok. That’s a start.” He paused, looking Tony over. “So, can I ask…” another pause, Steve licked his lips nervously. “Why are you still wearing my shirt?”

Tony felt his eyes widen. He didn’t have to look down to confirm it. Now Steve has said it, yes, he was wearing Steve’s horrible plaid flannel overshirt still. The one he’d worn home from the hospital when they’d had to cut his t-shirt off him to get at the shoulder. He’d completely forgotten about it, and Natasha hadn’t commented.Tony leaned back against the couch, not looking at Steve. He blinked for a second, not completely sure why this was quite this level of embarrassing. He forced himself to look at Steve.

 

“I forgot I was wearing it. Most of my shirts are, well, more fitted. They’re uncomfortable to get on and off.” Steve was looking at him, his eyebrows up. Apparently curious about how flustered Tony had gotten. So was Tony. “This thing is loose on _you._ On me it’s practically a bath robe. It doesn’t hurt to get on and off. You want it back? I can launder it. Or, you know, just get you a new one. I haven’t been wearing it this whole time. I just put it on when, y’know, company is coming over.” He shrugged, which was a very bad idea. He shut his eyes tight for a second against the brief but substantial wave of pain.

 

He felt Steve’s hand on his good arm, and opened his eyes. Steve was looking at him with genuine concern. “You ok?”

 

“Yeah. I’m fine.” His voice was a little strained, but he knew this would pass. Fucking collarbone. God, though, it was good to have Steve look at him like that. Concerned about him. It was the same look Jamie had given him. Even if he was still angry, the rift between them hadn’t destroyed everything. He hadn’t been sure. At that moment, he was almost content with his broken collarbone. At least it gave him an excuse to know things weren’t completely wrecked between him and Steve.

 

“Right.” Steve didn’t believe it, but was willing to let it drop. “Uhm. That’s ok. I don’t need it back.” Oh great, now Tony, what, had cooties?

 

“You sure? I can just go get one of my own robes.” He grabbed for the top button, but hesitated.

“I’m sure, Tony. It’s fine.”  Steve was looking away. Cooties. Great.

 

“Ok. Pepper tell you the apartments should be repaired in the next couple of days? I’m sure she knows.” He tried to make the conversation sound normal. That was one thing he’d been able to handle remotely without talking to Pepper, although he was pretty sure the contractors were getting sick of the lack of communication between the two of them. 

 

“Yeah. I’m sure she and the boys will be glad to be home.” Steve seemed… depressed?

 

“You’ll have your place to yourself again.” He added, unnecessarily, trying to get some kind of more pleasant reaction.

 

“Yep.” No dice.

 

Tony gave up. On to the next subject. “…Does Pepper know? About…?” He’d been wanting to know. It was rare that Pepper wouldn’t check up on him over several days. He’d been unsure whether she was avoiding him over the whole story or just part. 

 

“About what happened between you and Jamie?” Steve asked. “Yeah. Jamie told her. And she asked me about why you were in the ER. Not sure exactly what he told her. But she knows at least the basics.”

 

“…Think she’ll ever speak to me again?” As per usual, he tried to sound casual. That turned out to be a bad idea.

 

“She’s got good reason to be angry.” Steve’s voice held a small warning again. Whoops. He’d crossed into flippant. He needed to watch that.

 

“I know, I know. Can’t blame me for trying though, right? Look, Pepper will get over it or she won’t. I hope she does. I… really hope she does. But I want to know when I can safely go downstairs and see Phil.”

 

Steve looked reluctant “Tony, don’t-“

 

“What? What ‘don’t’?” He was a little offended. Ok, a lot offended. Steve was going to write off Tony’s desire to see Phil that fast?

 

Steve looked uncomfortable and tired “You want me to talk to Pepper for you. I don’t think that’s a good idea. You should talk to her yourself.”

 

Damn. Rogers was good. Tony hadn’t even gotten that far yet. “Just ask her if she’s willing to talk to me, ok? I don’t want to just show up and expect her to… This is actually me trying to be polite.”

 

“Then call her. Or send an email. Heck, ask Jarvis to ask her. He won’t mind.” Steve said evenly, but he shifted uncomfortably, “I hate getting in the middle of you two.”

 

Maybe a little flattery was in order here. “But you’re good at it. Jarvis has no finesse. Do you, Jarvis?”

 

Jarvis’s voice came from the ceiling “I don’t regard myself as an expert in assisting relationships sir, no.”

 

“There, see?” Tony concluded. “She listens to you. And I’m finally actually ready to talk to Phil.”

 

“Ready?” Steve was trying to get Tony on another subject.

 

“You told me not to talk to him until I could do that in a way that wasn’t… destructive. And I took that under advisement. But I’m calm now. I can talk to him. And, from what Tasha said, Pepper is…”

 

“She’s having a hard time, yeah,” Steve interjected. That wasn’t where Tony was going, but ok. Steve ran a hand over his face. “I’m not going to try to justify anything to her for you.”

 

The hell he wasn’t. Hah. Victory. Steve talking to him, and willing to go to bat for him with Pepper. That would work. Then he’d just have to make good on his claim that he could talk to Phil calmly. And... he’d have to face Jamie again. Ok, whatever. He’d make it work. This whole thing was wearing on him in the extreme. It was time to bite some bullets and try to get things in order. Because this couldn’t go on indefinitely.

 

But he had Steve on his side. That would go a long way. Steve usually got his way in the end around here. He was just a hard guy to say no to. He’d give Pepper those sad, pretty blue eyes with those ridiculous lashes and the pouty lips and she’d at least let Tony approach without throwing a shoe at him. That was enough for now.

 

“Thanks.” He smiled at Steve. Steve looked resigned. Tony would never understand why Rogers gave in to him so often. Given how unreasonably fast Jamie had forgiven him, it seemed to be a genetic defect. “So, ah, any suggestions?”

 

“That’s between you and Pepper. I’m already more involved than I want to be,” Steve said, putting up his hands and looking down.

 

“I meant about the apology. You don’t seem to need them as often as I do, but I’m open to tips.” He really didn’t know what Pepper or Steve wanted to hear, what Jamie would want to hear. But after 5 days up here of thinking he might have lost everyone in one afternoon, he was willing to sincerely say or do just about anything they wanted.

 

Steve was quiet. He was actually thinking about it. “Be honest with her like you were with me. Don’t make excuses. And…” he trailed off. He didn’t want to finish his thought out loud.

 

“What?” Tony prompted. This was hardly the time to start pussyfooting around.

 

“Well, I think let your actions speak for you,” Steve said uncomfortably, shifting.

 “...Don’t be a dick,” Tony hazarded as a translation.

Steve sighed. “Something like that.”

“I’ll work on it,” Tony agreed.

Steve sighed again, but without any particular air of skepticism. “Right.”

“Thanks for this, by the way.”

“Your welcome.” Steve answered automatically, getting up “Well, I’d better get back downstairs. We… don’t like to leave him alone for too long.”

Tony winced “How…” Nope, that voice sounded too pathetic. Adjust that. “How is he?”

Steve shrugged, looking more helpless than Tony was comfortable with. “He… sleeps a lot. He’s taking his medication. There’s been no new signs of brain injury. But beyond that… I honestly don’t know. I thought I knew last time, but obviously, I didn’t. So I have no idea. I’m just trying to keep an eye on him at this point.”

Tony exhaled, but couldn’t seem to breathe out any of the tension in his chest. “Right.” He leaned back on the couch, eyes unfocusing as he considered the situation.

“Oh,” Steve seemed to perk up a little, “But he apologized to Pepper at the hospital. She mentioned. He hasn’t said a lot since then, guessing that means he gets it. At least some of it.”

“He apologized?” That did help. It would have been nice if he’d apologized to Tony as well, but maybe when Tony finally got down to talk to him. He really wished somebody would have told him that sooner. It might have made deciding he was calm enough not to yell at Phil easier. “Ok. That’s a start.” Yeah, that helped.

Steve smiled at him with a watered down expression of encouragement. “I’ll talk to Pepper. Ok?”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

And with a nod, Steve started back towards the elevator.

Ok. Phil had apologized. Steve was talking to him. Steve would talk to Pepper for him and help him work out that mess, and Jamie was, for reasons unknown, apparently not harboring any major grudges against him. Now he just had to figure out why the hell frosty wanted him dented, and things would be good for a little while.

 

 

***

 

Jamie looked up, startled, as Phil entered the living room. Phil was showered, shaved, and basically looking perfectly normal for the first time since the attack on the tower. After several days of bed rest and taking his painkiller/anti-inflammatory medications, he was even walking pretty normally. He had his tablet in one hand, and a small piece of paper in the other like a business card that he shoved in his pants pocket as soon as he noticed Jamie looking at him from the couch.

At first, Jamie felt a wash of relief at seeing Phil looking so much like himself again. Then he registered Phil’s petulant expression, and the fact that he had his shoes on. Phil was _going somewhere_ , and Jamie had caught him.

Anger gave way to concern almost immediately. If using experimental nanotechnology on his own brain in a potentially deadly procedure was on the list of things Phil considered _ok_ to include Jamie in, then what on earth was he doing _now_ that Jamie shouldn’t know about?

Phil shifted, clearly considering turning back around. Jamie decided he was angry enough to use the direct approach. “Where are you going?”

Phil glanced down at the tablet, and shifted again, almost turning to go. He thought better of it and turned back to Jamie. He cleared his throat.  His voice sounded like fake confidence, and it still crackled from lack of use, “To the workshop. I want to do some stuff with the tablet.”

Jamie was floored. For a second he just stared at Phil, at a complete loss for how to respond to that. Phil was trying to go to the _workshop_. Phil stood there looking… resentful. And that just ticked Jamie off all over again.

“Phil. I’m pretty sure you’re grounded. _Everyone_ is grounded. Even Thor’s hardly left his apartment. And you sure are not gonna be allowed up in the workshop until you’re, like, 35.”

Phil’s quiet resentment turned into proper anger, but he still seemed to not want to look at Jamie. “Yeah, well, they can’t actually do that. I’ll be 18 in just over a week. Then they don’t get to say crap about any of it.”

“Phil… geez. Don’t. Just don’t. Haven’t you put everybody through enough for a while? Just knock it off. It’s moms birthday for Pete’s sake.” He felt a little bad, guilt tripping Phil, but _seriously._

Phil shifted again, reading the tablet. He put his hand in his pocket where he’d shoved the little piece of paper, but didn’t pull it out. He finally looked Jamie in the eye. “Look, I’m just trying to fix up my translation software onto something a little more portable. That’s it.” And now he sounded sincere. Jamie relaxed slightly.

“Tony _and_ pop are up there now.” Jamie supplied, still hoping to discourage Phil from going upstairs where he wasn’t supposed to go, and from making Jamie actually call pop down.

Phil winced reading that. “Great. Well, whatever. He’ll understand.” Jamie, once again, could only think to stare at Phil for a minute. Well, Phil hadn’t really talked to anybody since the hospital. Maybe it was possible he had no idea how hard everybody had taken his brush with death. Phil hadn’t actually seen them all panic. Hadn’t seen them wandering the hospital like ghosts. Maybe hadn’t even seen any of them cry. He’d been unconscious for most of it, or sequestered away from them. And Tony was still coming off his anesthesia when they’d left the hospital. 

But he had to know at least basically what would happen, right? He didn’t even look sorry. And even though he’d actually been around Jamie for days, he hadn’t tried to apologize to Jamie either.

“Phil, Tony’s _mad_. Really mad.” He hoped Phil would start to figure out the rest from there. Pop was mad to, of course. But not with the kind of blind rage Tony had shown.

Instead, Phil just looked and sounded angrier. “What? Oh, fuck that. I do not even care.” He headed towards the door with long, angry strides. Jamie got up and followed him out of the apartment and down the hall to the elevator.

“Phil, seriously. Quit it. Come on. Just go back home till you can talk to mom about it or something…” But Phil wasn’t looking down at the tablet, and couldn’t “hear” Jamie. Jamie tried to grab his sleeve, to get him to stop or at least slow down, but Phil shook him off without looking back. Well, if Phil couldn’t hear him, it made it easier to-“Jarvis, tell pop Phil’s trying to get to the workshop.” 

They arrived at the elevator. “Jarvis,” Phil snapped in the direction of the elevator, “Workshop.” He still didn’t look down at the tablet.

There was an unusual delay in the elevator opening. When it did, both Tony and pop were standing inside. Pop was standing with his arms crossed over his chest, with his lips tight, his body angled partially away from the door.  Tony, on the other hand, was facing Phil in the doorway directly. He was trying, and failing, to stay calm. Jamie felt his chest start to get tight.

Phil spoke before either of them had a chance. “I need to get some work done. Get out of my way.” Wow. That… that was the wrong thing to say.

Tony’s jaw worked for a second. His voice was overly-controlled when he did speak. “You. Are grounded. Incredibly grounded. You’re not going anywhere. Much less to my workshop.”

“It’s _my_ workshop too, now get the fuck out of my way.” Phil responded before he’d even finished reading the tablet. He looked back up at Tony defiantly.

Tony looked ready to snap back, but pop cut in, his voice quiet and nearly as tightly controlled at Tony’s, “Phil, Jarvis’s been told not to take you up to the workshop level or open the stair door to you. Tony stepping aside won’t help here. You’re not getting up there for a while. Not till we know we can trust you again.”

Phil was not showing similar restraint. “Trust me? _Trust_ me? I’m just trying to fix it so I don’t need to carry this damn tablet around all the time. You’re the ones being all _reactionary_. And I am too old to be grounded. That’s fucking stupid!”

Tony caught up, “It is _not_ your workshop. It is _my_ workshop. And it’s not there for the kind of irresponsible bullshit you’re trying to use it for. _You_ are banned until I _say_ you’re not.” Jamie didn’t like where this was going, how fast it was escalating. He resisted the urge to try to pull Phil back, away from Tony and pop. He wouldn’t be able to, anyways.

Pop was trying to keep his voice even, which was fairly pointless since Phil couldn’t hear it anyways, but maybe it was for Tony’s sake. “We can talk about you going back to the workshop when you’ve shown you can be trusted with the kind of responsibility that takes.”

Phil was slowed down by having to look at the tablet to read what was being said to him, his face showing more rage every syllable the tablet wrote out for him. “This is bullshit! Trust me? _Trust me_? To be _responsible?_ All I’ve been doing this past month was trying to fix the messes that other people caused! That’s all I’m trying to do now!”

Tony got that look he got when he wasn’t going to be reigned in anymore, as pop shifted behind him, ready to step in as needed. Tony spoke. “Don’t do that. No. Do _not_ pretend that what you were doing was responsible. It was stupid, and crazy, and reckless. You have to know that. You apologized to Pepper. So don’t pretend not to know what a selfish, shitty thing you did.” Jamie wished Phil could hear this. Tony _looked_ angry, but his voice was _raw_ with fear, with pain.

Phil shot back, stepping closer to Tony, “I apologized to _mom._ I didn’t and _won’t_ apologize to either of you!” Both Tony and pop looked stunned, and under that, hurt.

Jamie was shocked. How could Phil possibly be still making things worse? “Phil-“ he started, horror in his voice. Phil glanced the tablet, then at Jamie, then just as fast, turned back to Tony and pop, ignoring him.

After a moment of stunned silence, Tony rallied. “Not to me, huh? I don’t get an apology after you use _my_ workshop, the _materials_ _I_ got you to practice dangerous, experimental science on _yourself,_ using your _little brother_ as a... a minion, scare the rest of us half to death, and risk your life, your _mind_ -”

A sharp, mean laugh from Phil cut Tony off, as Phil dropped the tablet down to his side and out of his view. “Experimental science? Dangerous experimental science? Really? _Really?_ You’re gonna try and hand me _that?”_ Phil barked out another laugh that set Jamie’s teeth on edge. He lifted the tablet in his hand again, and shoved it, hard, at Tony’s chest. Tony winced as it rattled his shoulder, banged against the reactor, but Jamie severely doubted Phil noticed it. Tony reached up to grab the tablet as Phil released it, preventing it from landing on the floor. Phil then jabbed a finger at the center of Tony’s chest where, under the tablet, the arc reactor was. “What’s this then? Huh? _You_ conducted _experimental open heart surgery_ on yourself. _In a cave._ A _cave,_ Tony. You want me to apologize to _you_ for experimenting on myself? For trying to fix myself?” Phil turned his eyes on pop, who looked ready to attempt some kind of soothing response. Phil was shouting now. “And _you._ You weren’t even hurt. Or dying. You just _volunteered_ to be a lab rat _all on your own._ With the help of- who was it again? Oh yeah, my _grandfather._ And there wasn’t anything wrong with you that isn’t wrong with Jamie.” 

Phil grabbed Jamie’s arm unexpectedly, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to startle Jamie. “Is that better? Should I experiment on Jamie instead? Would _that_ make you feel better?” Jamie’s eyes went round. He pulled on his arm, and Phil let him go, barely seeming to notice. Jamie backed up a couple of paces.

Pop stepped up now, in front of Tony, “Stop that. Don’t even joke about-“ But Phil couldn’t hear him. He’d already shoved the tablet into Tony’s hands.

Phil kept going without a pause. “You two. Natasha. Banner. Most of the adults in this tower were lab rats. None of you have _any_ right to give me crap about being willing to risk myself to get back my hearing. You have no idea. I am not putting up with the pity, the _risk_ , the coddling, and the _control_ for the rest of my life because none of _you_ want me to risk what you risked. Tough shit. You get to control my life for 8 more days. After that, we’re done. And I will do whatever _I_ think _I_ need to do. And the rest of you hypocritical guinea pigs can go right to hell.” Phil turned on his heel and stalked back down the hall.

Jamie, and he was pretty sure the adults, considered calling after him, but realized the pointlessness of it, since Phil had now stalked off without his tablet.

Pop exhaled a breath he might have been holding most of Phil’s tirade. Tony swore under his breath, followed up by, “What is _wrong_ with that kid.”

Distantly, Jamie thought that that wasn’t really fair. Everything Phil had said had been true. Terrifying, but true. 

* * *

Thor drummed on the arm of the couch, going stir crazy. For six days he'd been cooped up here. He saw Signe, and he saw Natasha, briefly, each day, but that was it. He hadn't seen any of the others in days. He wandered out to the public areas- the pool, the rooftop, the gym, each day. But no-one was ever there and he didn't dare leave Signe alone too long, didn't trust her, as willful as she was being now, to hold herself to the terms of her confinement.

He longed for a battle. A threat to bring them together, draw them out of their cramped dwellings and to each others’ sides. But none came. Natasha gave him news, brief updates of the others, but the news was not good. Hourly he considered traversing the hall down towards where Steve, Pepper and the boys were. Or up to Tony's workshop where he had sequestered himself. Or down to Clint's quarters.

But Signe's actions had made them both unwelcome in any of the other apartments of the tower. Her support of Phil’s actions and injury of Tony were bound to make her unwelcome, bound to bring her under suspicion. Her refusal to discuss these actions, even with Natasha, would only have made matters worse. So far Natasha had not heard any of them ban Thor's presence outright, but he didn't care for the extra guilt that would accompany forcing his presence on any of them when they all clearly had other matters to worry them, now. Things he wouldn't be able to help with. They wished privacy, and it was one of few things it was in his power to grant them.

Still, his resolve in this area was weakening. He hadn't thought it would be so long, and his desire to see them all safe was slowly overwhelming his adherence to their wishes. There were only so many days he could watch the light move across his living room wall and not loose his mind.

Signe emerged from her bedroom, her restless, weary posture reflecting his own mood. If only she would go and apologize to Tony things could start to heal, he was sure of it. He had tried to order her to the task, but she had informed him coldly that he was demanding a lie, and that she had little motivation to make it convincing. He couldn't imagine Tony responding well to that, and didn't wish to initiate the fight that would almost inevitably follow. He watched her as she made a small stack of sandwiches.

He had thought, really believed, that Signe had moved past her impulsive, violent streak she'd had when she was younger. Proven wrong, he didn't know what to do with her. It would have been so much simpler on Asgaurd, where her outbursts could have been more easily contained, and where the risks would have been lower if she did lash out. Except, no, on Asgaurd her birth _would_ have placed her under greater suspicion. Even a controlled outburst would have caused chaos.

He heard sounds from the hallway- familiar voices, and turned towards the door. It was Phil whose crackling voice was shouting something about responsibility and needing to fix things. He heard Tony's voice, a low grumble Thor couldn't make out but which broadcasted anger loud and clear. Phil’s responding words were loud enough for Thor to make out clearly. "I haven't and won't apologize to either of you!" and Thor winced.

He glanced at Signe, who was paused, butter knife in one hand, frozen in the midst of her sandwich assembly. She, too, was looking towards the door, and he was gratified to see her cringe as well.

Tony's less distinct voice, mixed with Steve's cut in, but Phil overrode both voices in short order. Calling them hypocrites, equating his experimentation with theirs, his voice growing louder, less controlled. When he offered to test on Jamie, Thor flinched again, more for sympathy for his friends than out of concern Phil would do such a thing, but Signe turned to gape at the door, aghast. Maybe he _should_ be worried Phil would do such a thing.There was a little more shouting, a slammed door, and that seemed to be the end of it.

Thor sighed, heavily, sinking further down on the couch. It didn't sound like today would be a good day to breech the distance, either. He didn't think anyone wanted to be refused an apology again today. He looked towards Signe, who returned his gaze with open worry in her pale eyes. For all she loved Phil, she must have guessed at how such words would hurt Tony and the Captain, to say nothing of Jamie. To so blatantly disregard their desire to protect him, to refuse even that most basic parental inclination...

Signe opened her mouth as if to say something, but shut it again, shaking her head and busying herself with her sandwich. Once she had completed it, she spoke, still looking down at her lunch. "I should speak with him."

Thor sat up straighter, hope lightening the weight on his shoulders. “Agreed. Only give him an hour or two to calm down."

She shot him a regretful look. "I meant Phil."

He did not try to mask his disappointment or his disapproval. "Of what? What should you need to say to him, that I should allow it? You are still grounded."

Signe's voice was quiet as she pulled a glass from a shelf. "He shouldn't say such things to them. Particularly the Captain. And especially on his mother’s birthday. They’re only afraid for him."

Thor considered this, her use of the word "they". "You acknowledge Tony's desire to protect Phil, then?"

She frowned at the fridge, pulling out a gallon of juice. "Too little too late, as usual, but yes. I'm honestly surprised the Captain is speaking with him again, already."

That hadn't occurred to Thor. Both Steve and Tony had been in the hall, just now, with no indication they were fighting with each other. That was some small improvement, at least. "And you would speak to Phil without apologizing for harming his father?" he replied dryly.

Her expression turned sour, and she gathered her lunch. "It doesn’t sound as if he would care."

He frowned his disapproval. "Then neither of you deserve the conversation, and you will stay here."

She didn't acknowledge him further, just took her lunch to her room and shut the door behind her.

 

* * *

Alma watched the fight downstairs on her tablet screen. It was awful. Why did everything suddenly have to be so awful? She'd listened to Clint and Natasha plan, scheme, try to control the words flying around so people wouldn't get hurt and so maybe they could start to get along again. But it wasn't working. _Everybody_ was upset and angry.

 

Clint was right behind her. He'd shown up at her bedroom door to watch over her shoulder when the yelling had started on the screen. He'd flinched along with her as his and Natasha's plan unraveled.

 

She started crying. Sobs welling up in her chest and tears in her eyes. She loved Clint and she loved Natasha but she couldn't stand the idea of losing the others. Clint hadn’t even let her message them since Phil’s stupid trial.  And they were all scared and angry and needed someone to help them. Alma was just a kid but at least she didn't want to yell at any of them. Well, maybe at Phil. A little. And Tony. Ok, and Signe but she _wouldn't._ She wanted to hug them all a lot more than she wanted to yell at them.

It couldn't end like this. This was her family. It should take death to force them away from each other.

Clint pulled her close, pulling her head against his shoulder and rubbing a hand up and down her back. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, munchkin."

"Why does everyone have to be so awful to each other?"

He sighed, he already sounded like he'd given up. "That's just what people do when they're hurting."

"But they shouldn't!" she cried.

"I know."

"How do you make them stop?"

He sighed again, frustrated, but not at her. "Sometimes you can't."

That just made her cry harder. She leaned against Clint, waiting, hoping he could do something to make this better. He didn't say anything for a long time. When he finally said something, it wasn't like what she was hoping for. "Alma... peanut. Look, we... we might not be able to stay here. If things really get bad, we might have to leave."

She pulled away, looking up at him with round, horrified eyes. "Leave? For how long? I don't want to go. They all _need_ someone and they aren't taking good enough care of each other. Nobody’s coming after us. You have to help them-"

His voice was sharper, more hurt. "I don't think I can. I'm trying, I can keep trying, but Alma... this might not work. At some point you have to cut your losses and leave. I'm sorry."

She got up, moving away from him. "No. No, we can't leave. They need us. We need them. That's my family we can't... we can't just..."

He hung his head. "I'll do what I can. I swear I will. But if it comes to staying or compromising your safety, we'll have to go."

"But Tony's made the tower safer, you said-"

He cut her off. He hardly ever did that. "I don't mean the tower.  You just said it. People are acting horribly and it doesn't look like most of them plan to stop any time soon. And I'm not letting you get hurt."

For the first time in all this, she got mad at Clint. "Making me leave would be hurting me!"

"There are worse hurts to have," he countered stubbornly.

"No there aren't!"

He stood, but looked away from her. "If you go you're whole life believing that, I'll die a happy man."

"Let me go talk to them-" she started.

"No." his voice was solid, immovable. Just like it had been that morning.

“But-“

“ _No_ , Alma. I’m not letting you end up with bruises on your neck or broken bones.”

Now she was getting really, truly angry. “At least let me _try-_ “

_“No._ You stay put till this blows over.” Clint was heading towards the door.

Alma didn’t get really, honestly mad very often. She’d learned a lot from Dr. Banner about not letting your feelings run away with you. But if someone didn’t do something soon she could lose her family.She’d do just about anything to keep that from happening. Even something she’s promised herself she’d never do. Her voice was quieter, grudging. She didn’t look at him. “Doctor Banner would have at least let me try.”

She didn’t look at him, but she could feel him freeze. Then the door shut, carefully, quietly, behind him.

As soon as the door clicked shut her face crumpled again. She covered it with her hands, trying to stay silent. 

She made her way back to her bed. Now even she was upset and acting horrible. 

If just one of them could stay calm, stay OK, maybe they could help. But now she was being awful, too. She lay down, her mind going directionless in the face of her having nothing to do that could help.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my pal Emily for copyediting.  
> As always, comments are appreciated. You can also find me on Tumblr as constant_instigator. Sometimes I may post drabbles or answer questions about my fic over there. My askbox stays open.


	11. Chapter 11

 

Phil passed Steve, still sitting on the couch like a prison guard, on the way to the kitchen. Steve glanced up at him, made a split-second assessment, and went back to his paper book. Phil rolled his eyes. He could not wait to get out from under this. It was driving him insane. He’d been home twelve days already, and they still weren’t even letting him have his medications in his room. Like he was just going to up and down a bottle of Vicoden. It just showed how completely they still didn’t get it.

 

He paused as he passed the kitchen counter. There was a pair of tacky, big, bulky glasses sitting there. He glanced over at Steve, who looked back up at him, and nodded. Phil picked them up. And yep, right there on the side, where he would expect it, was a subtle button, barely raised, next to the hinge. He pressed it, and held the glasses up a little higher. He knocked on the counter top.

 

 **KNOCKING** appeared on the upper right corner of the glasses.

 

Yep. They were exactly what he thought they were. What he’d told Jamie he was going to make the day he’d been exiled from the workshop, six excruciating days ago. Delivered without comment or note. He weighed them in his hand a moment. They were light, but bulky and obvious. Tony had clearly made some attempt to streamline them and bring them up to code, fashion-wise, but at this size there was only so much to be done.

 

Tony had tried. But he hadn’t come downstairs. The adults, and even Jamie, talked to him about as much as you’d expect a prison guard to talk to their inmates. Not much. Which was fine with him.

 

He sighed, and put the ugly but necessary things on. At least now he could look at someone and listen to them at the same time. That was going to make some of the upcoming conversations easier on everyone involved.

 

He took a few slow, unenthusiastic steps towards Steve. He coughed, trying to restart his vocal cords. He still needed to do that every time he spoke. He wondered if his voice sounded gross, if it bothered people. Steve looked at him steadily, in a detached, angry sort of way.

 

“Steve. I want to talk to Signe and Alma. Privately. I know everyone is grounded or whatever but I really need to tell them some things. I want to call them both up and have them over. I’ll talk to you and Tony and everyone else later, but there are some things I need to say to them first. Okay?” Yep, still hated the feeling of talking. How had he not noticed before how gross the human mouth was?

 

Steve was watching him carefully. He licked his lips, and thought silently for a minute, maybe the anger subsided a little. **STEVE: There are a lot of conversations you need to have with people coming up here.**

 

Was that supposed to be a warning? An apology? Steve’s expression was just…stoic. And without vocal inflection, Phil didn’t know how to take it. He just nodded. “Well, I’d like to start with this one. But it’s your apartment, so is it cool?”

 

Steve nodded again, just slightly. **STEVE: As long as Clint and Thor don’t mind, It’s okay.**

 

Alright. Time to get this going, then. “Thanks.” He said hurriedly, turning back to his room.

 

He called up Thor first, and tried to ignore the hopeful way Thor looked at him, making no attempt to hide how carefully he was searching Phil’s face. Phil didn’t wait for him to talk. “Thor, I need to talk to Signe about some things. Can you let her come down Please?”

 

Thor hesitated, frowning slightly. He really blatantly wanted to say yes. Phil had always appreciated Thor's utter transparency. It was honest. **THOR: Have you discussed this with your parents? I didn’t know you were accepting visitors.**

 

“I talked to Steve. He said that there ‘are a lot of conversations I need to have’ coming up here, so it’s fine.”

 

Thor nodded. **THOR: Very well. And you will also be talking to your own father soon, I expect?**

 

Phil didn’t roll his eyes. It would look bad. “It’s on the list.”

 

That seemed to satisfy Thor, who smiled, albeit weakly. **THOR: I will send her down.**

 

Phil nodded back, with a slightly less watery smile. “Thanks, big guy.” And hung up.

 

Next up was Clint, who was probably going to be the harder sell. Phil pushed the ugly glasses up his nose, and tried to relax his shoulder and avoid looking like he was hiding something.

 

After just a couple of rings, Clint picked up. Phil could see Alma back several feet behind him on the couch, straightening and straining to look over Clint’s shoulder.

 

Clint's eyes were just as obviously searching Phil for cues, but his gaze was more penetrating. More piercing. “Hi.”

Clint nodded at him **CLINT: Hey. You look a little better.**

 

“Yeah. Thanks. Um. Can You let Alma come down? Steve said it would be okay. Just for a while.”

 

Clint was still watching him. What was he even looking for? **CLINT: Who all’s going to be there?** What?

Phil let his confusion show. “Um, just me and Jamie and the girls?”

There was a little twitch around Clint’s eye, almost like a wince. Clint hesitated, and Phil wondered if Clint was just that upset about Phil’s attempt. But clearly he knew Phil was going to be there, so who else would he be worried about? Alma was biting her lip anxiously in the background. But when he finally made up his mind he gave a short, curt nod, before cutting the call. Weird.

Okay, just one more. He stepped back into the hall, walked towards Jamie’s door, and stopped. Steve was still in the living room. Any conversation that happened in this apartment, he’d hear. Phil was not ready to have this conversation with any of the adults yet. He hesitated, shifting his weight back and forth, and shoved up the stupid glasses again before going back to the living room.

 

How to approach this. Steve looked up at him again. **STEVE: Yes?**

 

“So ah… it’s four. Aren’t you usually training with Natasha right now?”

 

Steve wasn’t quick to respond. **STEVE: Not lately.**

 

“Well, you should.” Steve looked at him dubiously. “Look, this, what your doing. You don’t need to do this. You don’t have to hang around me all the time, or control my medications, or any of it. I don’t know what you think I’m going to do…well, okay, I do know what you think I’m going to do. But I’m not going to. You can’t watch me forever. Go…have a life or whatever.”

 

Steve started radiating sincerity at the mention of “I do know”.  Phil wondered if it was possible to get cancer from too much sincerity radiation. **STEVE: I will, if I have to.**

 

“Well…you don’t need to. I do not need 24-7 suicide watch. Besides, this isn’t even leaving me alone. Jamie and the girls will be here.” And that seemed to be the wrong thing to say. Steve’s expression hardened.

 

That pissed him off. Did Steve really expect to watch him forever? He snapped “Look, if I wanted to off myself, there’s no way you’d be able to stop me, not in the long run. But I’m just trying to talk to my brother and sisters so will you please stop fucking hovering and give me a little privacy? I’ll get to the rest of you like, tomorrow or tonight. I want 30 minutes. I don’t think that’s too much to ask.”

 

 **KNOCKING** appeared before Steve had a chance to respond to that, and Phil’s head turned towards the door. It opened before anyone answered, Signe standing in the doorway. Her expression was one of immediate relief when she got a look at Phil, and she came into the room the rest of the way, crossing to him in a few hurries steps and immediately snagging him into a careful but enthusiastic hug that lasted longer than a greeting and involved one gigantic hand on the back of his head, holding him close. He tensed, uncomfortable with the intensity of it, especially in front of Steve.

 

She released him and held him at arms length, looking him over. He was starting to feel like some kind of biological specimen, as much as everybody was studying him today. He still didn’t know what the hell they were looking for. She smiled at him. Then she seemed to notice Steve **SIGNE: Captain Rogers.**

 

Steve stood, giving them both a careful, calculating once-over. **STEVE: Signe. I was just headed to the gym. I’ll see you both in a little while. DOOR OPENING**

 

Phil blinked. The sound effects mixing with what people were saying took a minute to process. He looked behind him. Jamie was standing in his bedroom door, looking confused.

 

**DOOR OPENING DOOR OPENING DOOR SHUTTING**

 

He swiveled his head back around to the front door. Steve was gone, and Alma was peering in.

 

He took a deep breath. Okay. The gang was all here. He resisted the urge to check the hallway to see if Steve was listening in. He gestured back to Jamie to join him in the living room.

 

 **ALMA: Phil, what’s on your face?** She sat down on the edge of the couch, looking harried and not half as relived as Signe had been.

 

Signe reluctantly let go of Phil's shoulder, and settled in to the other end of the couch, giving Alma a cautious look.

 

“It’s like my tablet, Al. And ‘hi’ to you to.”

 

The corner of her mouth quirked just a little, she looked depressed. It didn’t look right on her. **ALMA: Sorry. Hi.**

 

Jamie had settled himself into Steve’s recliner without comment, watching Phil. They’d have him on a slide under a microscope any day now.

 

Phil paused. Okay, he’d planned this. There wasn’t any reason to feel nervous. Not for this talk. The other ones, later, with Mom and Tony and everyone, sure. But not this one. He pushed up the glasses again. He’d have to make sure not to let that be a nervous tick.

 

All three of them were looking at them though, Jamie and Alma cautiously, Signe gravely. Right. Time to look a little less pathetic.

 

“Um. Right, so, okay. I’ve got…news. And I wanted to tell you guys first. I’m gonna tell the adults tomorrow, or maybe tonight so don’t bother telling them for me.” He paused. Why was he worried about telling them? Maybe it was the way Jamie looked. Jamie had been giving him weird looks since the hospital. Maybe he thought Phil was helpless now, to. “Okay, so.” He took a breath “I’m moving out. On my birthday. So, three days from now.”

 

And that got a reaction. All three of them moved forward on their seats at once, in various shades of alarmed.

 

**SIGNE: Leaving? How?**

**ALMA: _What?_**

**JAMIE: _Seriously?_**

 

Phil held up his hands to try and slow them down. Three people talking to him at the same time would be too much for right now.

 

“I got a job. And a condo. And it’s my 18th, so they can’t make me stay anymore. It’d be illegal if they even try to make me.

 

**SIGNE: Phil, you can’t. You’d be unprotected. It’s madness.**

 

“Because the tower is so safe? That’s how all this shit started. And even before that, I was going to leave in a few months.” He’d been hoping for a little more support than this, at least. Not instant acceptance, but still. Alma was just staring at him in wide-eyed horror.

 

**SIGNE: You can’t. You can’t just go out there alone.**

 

That sounded a little better. “Okay, so don’t make me go alone. Come be my bodyguard. At least until I know it’s not a trap.”

 

Now Jamie’s expression sharpened. **JAMIE: Why would it be a trap? When did you get a job?** Yeah, Jamie would zero in on that. Signe frowned.

 

Okay, so how to explain this without sounding crazy. “Okay, well, the job I got in the hospital. Jamie, you gave him the tablet to bring me.”

 

Jamie looked puzzled, and guilty, as if he’d done something bad without realizing. **JAMIE: The guy in the suit? He gave you a job? What kind of job? What was he even doing there? And why do you think it’s a trap? Who recruits people in am inpatient psych unit?**

 

“I don’t think it’s a trap! I just want Signe to come just in case. And I’m heading up starting a nanorobotics research program.” He tried to convey pride in that in his voice.

 

 **JAMIE: You’re _17_. You can’t be in charge of a nanorobotics program.** Oh, that’s nice. Great act of faith, there.

 

“Eighteen. And Tony already graduated from MIT by my age.”

 

 **SIGNE: Why are you concerned it’s a trap?** He shouldn’t have mentioned the trap part so early.

 

“The guy who hired me, who Jamie gave the tablet to give to me…he hasn’t got a great reputation. Kind of a history. But he’s served his time and it’s not like-“

 

**SIGNE: _Served_ his _time?_**

Phil flinched, looking back at Signe. “Look, people make mistakes. He already payed for it. It’s not like he’s a supervillain or anything. He just had a shady investment history like, over 20 years ago.”

 

**JAMIE: Who is he, anyways? He didn’t give me a name.**

 

Well, they probably wouldn’t recognize it anyways. “Justin Hammer, of Hammer Tech Enterprises. They don’t have a nanorobotics program yet-“

 

Signe shot to her feet, startling Phil enough to nearly unbalance him **SIGNE: Justin Hammer? Who hired Vanko, who tried to kill your father? The same Justin Hammer charged with conspiracy to commit murder, tax evasion, harboring a known fugitive, and treason? The only reason he’s out now is because they couldn’t make the treason charge stick! JAMIE: The guy who just got out of prison? _Really?_ ALMA: What? Phil, why would you want to work for a person like that?**

 

Too much text flashing right in front of his eyes. He squeezed them shut “Everybody just shut up a second!” He kept his eyes closed until he felt centered again. When he opened them they were all leaning back. He must have been loud.

 

“Okay, yes, that guy. God. Okay, he’s a weasel. Clearly. But he’s like 65 years old and short and skinny and really not that scary. And he thinks I can make him money. And I can. Because I can do this. But this time I’ll have enough time and a proper lab of my own and maybe I can even hire some other experts to help me.  And I won’t hurry this time, I swear.”

 

If anything, Jamie looked more horrified. Alma was looking down, lost in thought. Signe’s expression bordered on revulsion, before transforming into an almost pleading look.

Alma spoke first **ALMA: You mean your going to try _again_?** She looked up at him, if anything, more horrified than Jamie had been.

 

Phil couldn’t help give her a baffled look. Of course he was going to try again. Did she really think he’d quit after one try?

 

“If you don’t like it, come with me.” He meant that for Signe, but Jamie’s head snapped up to, brows drawn together. He reached for his cell in his pocket, and started looking something up. Alma looked up at Phil with big, tearful, and sort-of angry eyes. Usually, that could make him cave. But not for this. Not with the stakes so high. Signe looked torn, really torn. “Sig, I know it might not be safe. But if you even just came with me for a while, I know it’d be okay.”

 

 **JAMIE: I’m coming.** Phil jerked. He read the line over a few times to check who’d said it. Jamie? Why would he need Jamie? He looked back at his little brother. Jamie had lowered his cell phone, and was sitting up straight, as serious and determined as Phil had ever seen him, or anyone else, for that matter. He looked like Steve, gearing up for a mission, except miniature.

 

He started to tell Jamie that that was ridiculous. Unnecessary. Pointless. He found he had a lump in his throat, and he swallowed it. It was stupid. What was Jamie going to do?

 

Then again, who was Phil to argue if it was what Jamie wanted?

 

Oh, crap. He’d been planning on leaving this whole time, ditching Jamie at the center of the same collapse he’d been panicking trying to get out of. What a jackass. Of course Jamie would want to come. Who _would_ want to be left in the wreckage?

 

Phil nodded at Jamie, who settled back into his chair a little, already planning something. Phil looked back at the couch. Alma was actually crying now, but silently, if his ugly glasses were any indicator, and she wasn’t curling in on herself, or up against Signe. Signe still looked conflicted.

 

He was startled again that it was Jamie who answered. **JAMIE: Sig, I think you should tell Phil about the other thing that happened. I haven’t. Pop told me not to tell him anything upsetting for a while. But I think he should know, now.**

 

Phil looked back at Signe, who was looking at Jamie with tight lips and careful consideration. She looked at Phil. **SIGNE: Surely you noticed Tony’s injury. Has no-one told you what happened, truly?**

 

Wait, what? What did dad’s busted shoulder have to do with anything? He shook his head. No idea what they were talking about. He felt a little pang of guilt at not having thought about it. Dad just got injured often enough it didn’t really grab his attention until there was an IV involved.

 

Signe glanced to the side, it looked like an annoyed grunt. She looked back at Phil. **SIGNE: While you were…unconscious, Tony came into the room. He looked half mad and** She glanced at Jamie **and he had gripped Jamie and was threatening him. He left a mark.** This last was accompanied by quick change around her eyes, which glazed red for a moment, blue around the eyelids. **He left a mark on Jamie’s neck.** Phil looked at Jamie. The determination hadn’t left his shoulders, but he was looking down at a corner of the room now. Phil didn’t see any mark, but after 12 days, even a bruise on Jamie would be gone. **I stopped him, and pulled him away. I broke his collarbone.** Phil’s attention snapped back to Signe. She was looking at him directly, and just as darkly.

 

She didn’t seem conflicted about this. She looked completely certain and utterly unrepentant.

 

What the ever _loving fuck_ was going on around here?

 

He closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose under the glasses.

 

Tony threatened and hurt Jamie.

 

Signe hurt Tony and broke his bones.

 

He didn’t move. Didn’t even open his eyes. “Signe, you’re coming with me. Don’t even try to argue it. You’re coming with me before somebody comes up dead around here. I am going. If you give two shits about me, or anyone in this tower, you’ll come to.”

 

Now he let go, lowering his hand and looking back at them. Jamie and Alma were watching Signe. For the first time, Signe showed some sign of humility or something similar. **SIGNE: If you need me, I will come. I will guard you both.**

 

Now Signe looked over at Alma, and her expression melted into actual sorrow and remorse. **SIGNE: Alma…Little sister…**

 

Phil looked at Alma. The poor kid was trying to look stoic, and probably doing better than most kids her age would. But this was way too close to what she’d cried on Phil about the day the social worker had visited. He put his hands in his pants pockets. This was going to be a streach. “Uh, Al? You wanna come to?” That earned him a thankful look from Signe, and a conflicted but not argumentative glance from Jamie.

 

Alma looked at him, desperate and confused. He kept on “I mean, hey, I said I’d go to Somalia with you. So no big if you want to come to a different part of New York with me. We won’t actually be that far from the tower, either way. I’m not disappearing.” She looked down, shut her eyes tight, thinking. Signe looked like she might keel over from waiting for Alma to answer. Then Al nodded, a fast, jerky movement without opening her eyes. Signe relaxed suddenly. Poor Alma. Clint hadn’t done anything wrong here. He didn’t blame Al for not wanting to go. She was just a little kid. “It’s not that far. And Clint won’t be an ass about it. I’m sure you can come and go from both places, no problem.”

She nodded again. That had seemed to help.

 

 **JAMIE: Phil? I don't think we should wait too long to tell them, then. Our parents, I mean.** He looked meaningfully at Alma, who didn't seem to notice. Oh, right. Asking Alma to go home without telling Clint would be...mean. Which meant he'd need to step up telling Mom and Dad. And...Who else? Should he tell Steve himself? No, better let Jamie handle that. The fewer people he had to face for this, the better.

 

"Okay. I'll message Tony and Mom." An idea occurred to him. "I'll take them out to dinner. Mom will be off in a few minutes anyways." Yeah. Someplace public where they wouldn't want to make a scene. And, even though they had frozen his accounts, he still had a good $500 cash laying around. Plus, taking them out to dinner, that was a good way of showing that he didn't need them to take care of him anymore. Maybe that would smooth things along. "Okay. Well, if we're actually doing this, lets go get it done. Jamie, Steve's in the gym." 

 

Jamie nodded. That look of grim determination was back. Signe patted Alma’s back, and stood. Alma followed, seemed eager to be out of the room. He wasn't actually sure she'd be able to come - hopefully Clint would at least let her visit. He'd always gotten along okay with Clint. 

 

They left, leaving Phil alone in Steve's living room. Better get this over with.

 

 

* * *

 

Steve faced Natasha in the ring, his guard up, ready for the next round. A little moving around was helping clear his head, helping settle him down. She was eyeing his left knee, and he was trying to decide if it was because she was thinking of going after it, or because she wanted to make him think that she was about to go after it.

 

Movement at the door caught his attention, and he held up a hand to signal a pause. Natasha immediately straighted and relaxed her own posture to signal her understanding. Jamie stayed just inside the door, looking very much like he had when he'd come to talk to Steve in the hospital. He exchanged glances with Natasha, who moved out of the ring of towards the door without a word, touching Jamie’s shoulder in a supportive gesture on her way out the door.

 

Steve took his time a little more, unwrapping his knuckles and walking over. Jamie looked even more grim and pale up close.

 

"How'd your meeting go?" He asked.

 

Jamie glanced down, chewing the inside of his cheek before looking back up at Steve. "Pop, I think you should sit down."

 

That couldn't be good.

 

He almost argued, told Jamie not to wait, to just start talking. But...sitting sounded pretty good. Whatever Jamie had to say, Steve wasn't going to be able to fight it by standing. He found a folding chair, moved it next to another folding chair and sat. Jamie didn't. He hovered, one hand, one shaking hand, on the back of the folding chair Steve had set aside for him. He seemed to want to keep the chair between them. Steve kept a tight control on his thoughts, not letting them spiral out into all the possibilities of what could have happened to make Jamie look like this.

 

Jamie was silent, thinking hard. Steve waited. When he spoke, his voice was controlled, but overlaid with fear and holding just the smallest tremble. "Phil has a job and he's moving out on his birthday. I'm going with him, and so is Signe. I'm sorry."

 

Steve had to remind himself that that wasn't actually the worst possible thing that Jamie could have said. It wasn't. It wasn't medical complications. It wasn't Phil being suicidal. It wasn't Phil offering to experiment on Jamie.

 

He tried to sort the information and ignore the way his pulse was pounding. Phil had a job. Okay, how had that happened? He'd been blocked from net access. No, don't focus on that. That wasn't the important bit. Phil was moving out. He was taking the money from this mysterious, sudden new job, and taking it as an opportunity to sever ties.            

 

This was going to kill Tony.

 

But, not sever ties with everyone. Just...just his parents. And Steve. The adults. An ultimate declaration that he didn't need or want them anymore.

 

And Jamie wanted to go with him.

 

Why? He knew Jamie wasn't exactly Steve's biggest fan. He knew they had trouble getting along, trouble communicating… but _moving out_? At fifteen? He couldn't.

 

No, he really couldn't. After feeling like so much of what was going on this month was outside his control, this was something that, as a parent, he actually had control over. "You can't." He said, trying, for once, to talk with some tone of authority to his son. "Phil is going to be eighteen, but you aren't. Not for a few years, yet." Yeah, he could at least watch over Jamie for a while longer.

 

Jamie swallowed. His lips were tight and his neck was tense, the way he usually looked when he was about to throw up, but his eyes were steady, not backing down. When had Jamie become this? He hardly seemed like the same little boy from a month ago. "I actually can. In the city of New York, minors over the age of fourteen have the right to elect their own adult legal guardian. I can petition for transferred guardianship to Phil. I checked."

 

That took another moment to absorb. Where were his supposedly super-fast reflexes now? Jamie took his silence as an opportunity to continue. "I won't though, if you don't make me. Just let me go. I don't want to file papers with the court. I don't want to embarrass everybody like that. Just let me go, so I don't have to."

 

That was one shade off of blackmail. Jamie was not quite threatening to tell a judge, a government official about...well, all of their failings as parents. But still... "Phil is in no shape to-"

 

"I know." Jamie interrupted. "I know he's not."

 

He had to ask the question, feeling his heart breaking preemptively, his ears echoing with _just let me go_ "Jamie, are you really that unhappy here?"

 

"No! No, I'm not doing this to get away. I'm not like Phil." Jamie’s stalwart posture was cracking around the edges. "It's not ‘cause I want to leave. It's because Phil needs me. The rest of  you aren't going to be able to keep an eye on him anymore, and Signe will only protect him from outside problems. I'm going because I didn't protect him before, and now he's going to have even fewer people helping him, but he'll let me come. He'll let me. And he’s got a job with _Justin Hammer_. He’s going to build nanites for him. _Brain altering nanites._ And I just think…somebody should go to keep an eye on that.”

 

Steve was at war, pride in Jamie’s intentions at odds with his desire to protect him, at odds with a need to keep Phil safe, to.

 

He hung his head, thinking for a moment. He didn't want this. He couldn't believe they'd failed at parenting so badly that it had to come to this. His fifteen year old son having to move out to keep Phil from tearing himself apart or arming supervillains. Because there’d be no question about what that technology would be used for in hands like those. He could try to stop it. Phil was eighteen, but he was in no shape to handle this kind of leap in responsibility. And who was going to be taking care of Jamie in all of this?

 

Tentative fingers touched his shoulder and he looked up. Jamie had come closer, quit keeping the chair between them, and he was looking at Steve. He wasn't trying not to look afraid, now, but the resolve was still in his posture. "Pop, I can do this. I know you think I can't but I _can_. I'll do better this time. I know how to be responsible. I wont let anything happen to him. Me and Signe. We can do this."

 

Why did Jamie think it was only Phil he was worried about? Well, it had seemed like everything was revolving around Phil this past month.

 

And...oh, God. Had he even told Jamie that he'd talked to Tony about that whole incident? It could look to Jamie like...like Steve hadn't even cared about that. He risked bringing a hand up around to Jamie's back. He was a little surprised when Jamie allowed it. "I know. I know you're responsible. And I know you care about Phil. But it's not just Phil I worry about."

 

He recognized Jamie’s expression from a month ago, when they'd been working on the ice wall in the hallway.

 

Steve leaned forward, trying to get Jamie’s attention back. “I’d worry about any of us going off on their own. I still worry about Bruce. And you're my son."

Jamie seemed a little mollified. "I can do this. I'm going to do this. But I don't want to fight with you about it. So please, just...don't get in the way."

 

Steve hadn't felt so superfluous since his first year after the ice. Was this how Tony had been feeling, knowing Phil was leaving? No wonder he'd been drinking and picking fights more.

 

But neither of those were options for Steve.

 

He could try to fight this. With enough effort, he might be able to stop Jamie from going. For Pepper’s sake, if nothing else. But then who would curb Phil? And if he fought this, would Jamie still come to him if things got out of control again?

 

"If I don't fight it. Let you move in with Phil, will you come to me if things get to be too much again?" Jamie still hadn't moved away from Steve's hand.

 

Jamie didn't have to think about this one "Yes. If I can't handle it, I'll call." he answered promptly.

 

"Your mom is going to be really upset."

 

"I know. But she'll understand. She wants to keep Phil safe too. And I can do this. And she’s always careful about what kind of weaponizable tech ends up on the market.”

 

Steve stood, letting Jamie go. Jamie backed up a step, so he wouldn't have to crane his neck up to look Steve in the eye. "I'm proud of you, you know. I don't like this, but I'm proud of you. Phil's lucky to have you as a brother."

 

Jamie was not good at accepting compliments. Never had been. But a slight tick at the corner of his mouth and the embarrassed glance at the floor told Steve that at least he accepted this one as sincere. "Thanks," he muttered.

 

A solid weight settled in the pit of Steve’s stomach, and he worked to ignore it. It was settled then. He was pretty sure Pepper would reach the same conclusions he had. Maybe, when Phil was more stable, if Steve didn't mess things up between them some other way, they’d come back. Jamie at least seemed open to continuing to talk to him.

 

Maybe...he decided to risk it. He put one hand on Jamie’s shoulder, pulling him a little closer. Jamie himself bridged the gap and hugged Steve, tightly. Steve shut his eyes. In that moment, Jamie let himself be Steve's little boy again, clinging to Steve in a way he hadn't in a very long time. He held Jamie close, hoping this was more them a temporary ceasefire.

 

Jamie pulled away first, with an embarrassed look up at Steve. Steve patted him on the shoulder in a way he hoped was reassuring and not condescending.

 

Jamie looked ready to walk away, but not angrily. No, there was one more thing.

 

"Hey. Do you need or want to talk at all? About what happened with Tony?" Tony had said Jamie forgave him. But that was Tony’s side of things. Just because Jamie still was willing to take care of Tony didn't mean he was okay with what had happened. He should have talked to Jamie about it earlier.

 

But Jamie shook his head. "No. I'm okay. I know how Tony is. He wouldn't really have thrown me off the roof."

 

 _Thrown him off the roof?_ He hadn't heard that part. Great. “You’re sure?"

 

"Yeah, I'm fine." Steve wasn't filled with reassurance at how quickly Jamie could brush something like this off. "I hope Signe apologizes to Tony soon, though."

 

Steve let out a long breath. "Me too. You...keep an eye on her too, okay? Call if you need backup."

 

Jamie clearly didn't like that idea, but he nodded. He gave Steve an unenthusiastic smile that Steve recognized from pictures of himself.

 

"I'm gonna go start getting ready" Jamie said. Steve tried to look okay, and nodded. Jamie padded off back across the gym, and out of sight.

 

Steve sat back down, heavily on the folding chair. He wasn't ready for this.

  

* * *

 

Thor was slowly pacing his living room. He was regretting allowing Signe to go down to see her brothers, and guilty at suspecting Signe of being unfit to spend her time around her family.

 

He tried to tell himself that, if anything, young Jamie may be able to get through to Signe about why she must apologize to Tony. Most of the time, Signe’s brothers and sister were a good, calming influence on her. At least, when she wasn't half mad with the urge to protect them. And when they weren’t orchestrating covert missions to listen in on talks with government officers. Or conspiring to hide dangerous medical experiments.

 

He let out a sigh.

 

But most of the time they were fine. And perhaps Phil was apologizing to them for getting them involved. That would account for the need for privacy as well as any more nefarious reasons.

 

He turned where he stood as Signe entered. She looked almost sheepish. Ah, good. Perhaps Jamie had been able to talk sense into her then.  She looked at him "Father. We need to talk."

 

Some pride in her voice, but no challenge. He smiled at her, and sat down on the couch. She sat beside him.

 

"I'm sorry we've quarreled. You’re not the one I have been angry at. Not mostly, anyways. And I am sorry for using my abilities the way I did, at least with regards to you. It was cruel, and I'm sorry I didn't say so sooner. "

 

That was music to Thor’s ears. He clapped her on the back. "Then you are forgiven. Only please, go and apologise to Tony. Make peace with him, for everyones’ sake."

 

She set her chin, stubbornly “There’s no need for that. I’ll be seeing him much less, now."

 

“Signe, you live with him, or very nearly. He is your brother’s father. You can’t avoid him."

 

She drummed the arm of the sofa. "I can. Father, you know I love you, always.”

 

Thor’s brows knit. He didn't trust that change in subject. She continued "But Phil is permanently altered. Disabled. Relationships in the tower are permanently altered. Things can't be the same anymore. Phil is eighteen in mere days, an adult. And he has decided to strike out on his own. He has a job, and a place to live. I have volunteered to go with him, and keep him protected. You know that I can."

 

No. Absolutely not. This would not be permitted. He stood, speaking with his most commanding voice. "I forbid it."

 

She did not rise. “You would have me leave my brother unprotected, then? Phil will go, even without me if need be. He has already proven himself willing to risk himself for his goal. If you forbid me, you condemn him. The situation he has chosen for himself is…beyond untrustworthy. It’s dangerous. Plainly dangerous.” Her voice held some heat, but she was thinking clearly. Thor tried to slow his own heartbeat and clear his head, to try and match her.

 

"They will stop him. And I will not have you making this folly easier for him."

 

"They will not. Not for long anyways. No-one can stop Phil without making him a prisoner and violating the law. There are no kings here, father. They can’t detain him. And I fear for his safety. You will have to fight me if you wish to hold me here when I believe he’s in danger." Her voice was becoming cold. It seemed the room was becoming cold to, but he couldn't be sure if that was her doing, or his own sense of dread. He saw no frost. And she looked herself.

 

"You challenge me?" He was trying to "bait" her now, as Steve would say. He wanted that coldness to leave her voice. He used to long for her tantrums to end, but these cold, determined challenges were a fresher and more painful threat.

 

"If I must. But I don't wish to. I know I cannot best you in combat yet. Unlike the others, time has not slowed you, and you are the most experienced warrior in this realm. But you will have to fight me, genuinely, and keep fighting me until I have my way or know Phil is safe. Especially since Jamie has also sworn to accompany Phil. They’re too vulnerable to be left alone. But they won’t accept help from you." She hadn't risen to the bait, but her tone had softened. "I don't want to fight you. But they are in great danger alone."

 

"This is madness." He objected, again.

 

“It is. But it’s Phil’s madness. Only he would rely on a snake like Justin Hammer to support him while he’s in such a disordered state. I am only doing what I must. Besides, how much longer do you imagine I will be welcome here?"

 

He could fight her, he thought. He could make her stay. But as what, a prisoner? She wouldn't rest, knowing Phil and Jamie were in the world alone. There was a real chance that if he tried, he would have to do her genuine harm, and risk the lives of both Jamie and Phil in the process.

 

"What of Alma?" he asked. And there was grief on her at that. She looked down, winding a dark lock of her hair between her fingers.

 

"I don't know. She said that she will come with us. But she's so young. She will be welcome in Phil’s home, whenever she is there. I will see her as much as I can. But Clint and Natasha have always kept her well protected."

 

Thor wanted to go on arguing, but he was starting to feel that in doing so he was condemning two children he loved to painful fates if he did so. "Is there nothing I can say to make you change your mind?"

 

She shook her head with a rueful smile "Nothing you can say to me. You could try changing Phil’s mind, but I doubt you'd get far. I could not, for all that his plan is madness bordering on treason. But I will visit. As often as I can. And I’m happy to call you every day."

 

Thor tried to rub some of the tension out of his shoulder. "Then you will spend the next three days training with myself or Natasha. You will be as ready as I can make you."

 

She stood, smiling now "Thank you father. It is my honor."

 

"Yes, yes." he said, sounding more like his own father than he usually cared to. "Now go and sharpen your blades. We’ll start after supper."

 

She leaned over and kissed him on the forehead. Taller than him, as so few were. She smiled thanks at him again, and left for the bedroom, looking lighter than when she'd come in. Likely because she had passed her burden to Thor, who felt it weigh on his heart. There was so little time.

 * * *

Pepper was tired of feeling numb, of going through her day on automatic, only half able to muster the motivation to mimic the other emotions demanded of her in the course of a day. She tried, for the sake of normalcy, or maybe just to avoid being questioned about anything. Occasionally the blanket of numbness covering her heart and her mind wore through a little though, and she could glimpse what was underneath it. Every time that happened, she chose the numbness again.

It couldn’t last forever, and she didn’t know how long she could do this, but for lack of better option, she kept going. All she could do was hope nothing worse happened, and that when she finally had to come back to herself there might be some comforts available to her. She was just getting into her car when her phone tinkled an alert that she had a message from Phil - the first since the attack on the tower. She pulled the phone out of her purse, and read **Hi mom. I want to take you and Tony out to dinner for my birthday tonight. Golden Fig at 5? It's on me.**

The fog of automation she’d cultivated made the information sink in slowly. It didn’t match with her understanding of what was happening with her son. But she re-read the message a few times, concluding, slowly, that her understanding was complete. Her hand went up over her mouth, finding her lips trembling just slightly at a smile. The Golden Fig was one of her favorite restaurants in new York. She’d been there with Phil hundreds of times. This was a very clear, and very sweet, peace offering. An offer of comfort from the last person she’d expected. Tears welled up in her eyes and she blinked them back, tapping out her acceptance.

Tony would do the same. Which would make this the first time since the hospital she’d see him. She was still mad at him - furious, under the layer of numbness - for the nanites, for Jamie, for failing when she needed him. But if being angry at Tony had meant she couldn't interact with him, her whole life would have turned out very differently. Tony more or less survived because there were a few people who were good at loving him even while furious. Steve had talked her into letting him come downstairs, but after the fight she’d heard about he’d never actually shown up. She didn’t question whether he’d show up now.

She was, in the back of her mind, faintly surprised at how badly she wanted this - to take reassurance from something so normal with them both. Living on autopilot meant she couldn’t look to closely at what she wanted, for fear of being overwhelmed by unfulfilled needs. It was rare that someone would be able to figure them out and present something she needed to her when she couldn’t bear to recognize it herself. Anyone other than Natasha anyways, and Pepper couldn’t let her that close right now without risking a breakdown.

  
If she left now, she'd get there just a little early.   
  
As soon as she got there, the maitre ‘d recognized her, and brought her to a table, saying that Phil had already made the reservation. Something about that detail seemed miraculous to her. Once seated, she just sat back in her chair, and tried to allow herself to enjoy this. This felt like a little piece of her life from before the past month. She’d always loved the relaxed elegance of this place - the quiet string instrumental playing, the simple flower arrangement on the table, and the truly excellent lobster bisque. She let her mind go blank, relaxing into the familiarity of it.

Right now, there was no crisis. No work she had to do. No family trying not to need anything from her. Just the anticipation of the gift of a meal from her son, and the prospect of checking on Tony. Maybe she could even pull enough energy from this to go back to being more herself for a while.  
  
She was there for about 5 minutes before Phil arrived, wearing a trendy suit and and looking achingly adult. He was wearing… glasses? And not carrying his tablet. He strolled past the maître d' with a nod, scanning the room for her. She put up a hand to signal him, and he honed right in with an apologetic little smile and his hands in his pockets. She didn't see Tony with him, he must have gotten a ride with the current driver. 

When he got a little closer, she could see the text scrolling fast across the glasses, confirming their function. Tony must have put them together for him. She could also see the way his eyes darted around the room, then back to the text, then to the room again. This was the first time he’d been outside the tower to anyplace but a hospital since the attack. The first time he’d been seen publicly since loosing his hearing. Somehow, pictures would wind up circulating of this. She was glad he’d thought to dress well, but wished he didn’t look so overwhelmed. She pushed down the urge to go wrap him up in her arms, protect him from prying eyes and cameras when he so clearly felt lost. Instead, she smiled at him, trying to reassure him. It was like the first time Tony went out in public after Obi, when suddenly he had very opaque undershirt covering the glow of the arc reactor. Neither of them could bear to just blend in to the crowd, but Phil clearly didn't want to draw attention to his disability.  
  
He came around the table, and put an arm around her shoulder, hugging the top of her head where she sat "Hi, Mom." And his voice finally sounded normal, not cracking and unused.   
  
"Hi, sweetie. You came alone?"   
  
He sat down "Yeah. Tony said he needed more time to get ready and shower. He's coming though."   
  
"Well, this is a very nice surprise. Thank you."   
  
He still looked so uncomfortable. Even in a place like this, that he'd been to so many times. Half the waitstaff knew him by name. Of course, maybe that made his glasses feel more obviously out of place. And he wouldn't be able to hear the music, not that he'd ever particularly liked classical music, but still. She tried to get his attention on her, and her own attention off of the casual glances at their table from other curious customers.   
  
"I take it Jamie stayed home?"   
  
He was frowning at the text, moving faster than she would have been able to comfortably read. “Um. What?”

“I asked if Jamie was staying home.”

His voice was normal, but his eyes were glazing over, looking overwhelmed. “Oh. Yeah. I wanted to talk to you guys alone. Besides, I could only use what I had in cash right now, so not really a 'the more the merrier' kind of thing."  The words on the screen kept moving - reporting on conversations at other tables. A lot of other tables, by the look of it.  
  
She hadn't noticed that Tony, also looking polished and clean for once, other than the bright blue sling, had come up behind Phil. He looked down at Phil with a critical, appraising look she usually preferred he save for tech, rather than their son, and spoke "Hey. Happy almost birthday." Phil looked up, and also registered Tony's expression, and frowned a little deeper.   
  
Tony pulled out his cell phone, flicked a few keystrokes, and put it on the table in front of Phil. When Phil looked down at the phone Tony reached down at pinched at Phil's glasses. Pepper started to object, just as Tony flicked some switch on the inside of the arm.   
  
Tony calmly walked around to the other end of the table to sit down. Phil’s face turned bright red, but he looked down at the screen on Tony's phone. He shut his eyes for a second against all of the words on the screen, and pulled them off, zeroing in on the phone. He started typing into the phone, into what must be preferences settings for the glasses. Trust Tony to be helpful in the most thoughtlessly embarrassing way possible.   
  
She gave him a mild warning look. She didn’t want him ruining this with being angry about the argument in the hall. His anger might be justified, but damn it, she _needed_ this. “Was that really necessary?"   
  
He leaned back into his chair, uncowed. "If you want him to be able to actually have a conversation, yes. He had the at-home setting on, sensitivity's up too high for a busy place like this. I figured he'd bother learning how they worked before taking them out in public." He shrugged one shoulder.   
  
She rolled her eyes a little, looking back at Phil, whose red face had subsided into pink. He handed Tony back his phone, and hesitated just a minute before putting the glasses back on with a look of resignation. He looked back at Tony "Thanks." he said shortly. Tony shrugged again.   
  
Well, that took about a minute and a half to get uncomfortable. She felt desperate to fix it. To make this nice. Let it be the comfort it was meant to be.   
  
Tony addressed Phil "So, what's this about? Since when do you take us out to eat?"   
  
Phil shrugged, his whole posture more closed off than it had been before Tony arrived. He tried to make himself look comfortable. She wondered sometimes if either of them were remotely aware that they both did the exact same thing when anxious. Trying to look so casual and disinterested. At the moment they looked like equally unconvincing mirror images of each other. Phil answered "Why not? It's my 18th in three days. And I wanted to talk to you both, so this seemed like the thing to do."   
  
The waiter appeared at Pepper’s elbow, all polite smiles and efficiency, took their drink orders and explained the specials. Pepper ordered a jasmine tea and was gratified to hear Tony's muttered order of a Diet Coke. Phil ordered a coffee. He seemed a little calmer now, with words not streaming so quickly across his vision, but he was still clearly feeling self-conscious.   
  
Pepper smiled at Phil “Well, it’s very thoughtful. Thank you.”” He smiled at her, and there was something vulnerable there that tugged at her heart - guilt or nervousness or pain. Numbness didn’t stand a chance in the face of that. “Have you given any thought to what you want to do for your birthday? It’s short notice now but I’m sure we could work something out.”   
  
Phil paused his casual posturing long enough to look down at the table, and a brief flicker of genuine, profound sadness crossed his face before he looked up. She could see him swallow some kind of anxiety. He was probably going to request to be let back into the lab for his birthday. She started trying to figure out how to respond to that before he started to speak.   
  
"I already have plans. And you won't like them, but it's for the best." He sounded a little breathless, and he looked frightened, but he looked squarely at them both. Peppers heart skipped a nervous beat.   
  
"The fact is, I'm 18. I will be, anyways. So, while I value your opinions, it's ultimately my call. And I've made up my mind." He paused, looking at them. She glanced at Tony, whose detached interest was only altered by one raised eyebrow. Phil took a deep breath and continued "So here's the thing. I'm moving out."   
  
She gasped, audibly. She caught Tony's very brief flinch. Silence descended for a long, long minute.   
  
Tony spoke first, his voice as calm as his posture. "Your accounts are frozen.”   
  
"My accounts with you are. I know. I have a job."   
  
"Phil, honey, you are _seventeen_." She tried. What on earth could he be thinking?   
  
"Eighteen. And you both had jobs younger than that. Tony graduated college by my age."   
  
"And what about college?" Tony asked, keeping his voice low in deference to their location. Tony never hesitated to make a scene, but if Phil really was leaving, out on his own, they didn't want to broadcast that fact.

This time Phil actually scoffed. "What about it? I got more of an education growing up in the workshop than I would have at school. Besides, that's not the place for me anymore. And if I can get a good job without it, why bother?”

Tony's calm was starting to crack, but his voice got quieter to shield that fact from prying ears. "That's why I made you the glasses. You can go to college just fine with those."

"Okay, so you made me the glasses so I could leave, and I'm leaving. What's the difference?”

" _That is not what I said_." Tony snapped, now at a whisper. His back and shoulder stayed in a relaxed lean, but his hands were curled into fists and the anger was plain on his face now.

Time to intervene. This couldn’t be allowed. Assess and mitigate. “Phil, _why_ are you leaving? This is so sudden."

He looked back at her.”Because, let’s face it, this family is self-destructing. Partly because of me. And I want out." he was getting a little loud. She glanced around, hoping nobody was listening in. He seemed to notice this gesture, and continued more quietly "It's for the best. For everyone. _And_ I'm taking Signe with me." He added with a meaningful glance at Tony.

Pepper felt a little breathless. "So..your trying to do this to...what? Make things easier? You don't have to-"

"Well, I'm going to." He interrupted, shifting to a more definite, defensive tone and posture. "And you actually can't stop me. I've made up my mind. I'm out. So, I know the apartment is just about done, but you don't have to bother with my room. I'm not moving into it."

Pepper leaned her head on her hand for a moment, not wanting to even see how Tony reacted. She felt dizzy. _Leaving._ He’d arranged all this to tell them he was leaving. Not a reconciliation, a goodbye. A polite goodbye, but still, in the end, a prelude to leaving.

She held on to the details. He’d brought them here, to her favorite restaurant. He wasn’t shouting, he wasn’t cursing them. This could, maybe, be amicable. A fracture, not a break. Something that could be undone, later.

But if she didn’t say something soon Tony might explode, exposing this information to all and sundry and driving Phil away. She made sure her tone cut off anything he’d been about to say, training her eyes on Phil.  "Promise me you'll stay safe."

Phil nodded earnestly, licking his lips. “Yeah. Yeah, I will. And I can visit, sometime. Maybe. And…Signe’s going to help. And..." _Now_ guilt showed up, his eyes darting away briefly before barely meeting back with hers. "And Jamie says he's coming, too."

 

That hit her like a blow. She stared at Phil in speechless shock, unable to formulate any response. Tony, however, was apparantly not speechless. "The hell he is." He snapped. She glanced over at Tony. His posture had given up all pretense of casualness and his expression had turned sharp.

 

Phil held up his hands, fingers splayed "Not my idea. But I can't blame him for not wanting to stick around." She couldn’t breathe.

Phil was eighteen, he’d been planning to head out into the world. She wasn’t altogether surprised he’d decided to go ahead with that despite his injury. But _Jamie?_ And Signe? Jamie was just a baby, and he’d never talked about desperately wanting to leave. He’d never once described a goal that mandated he leave the tower early. She’d thought…she’d thought he was content there, with all of them. With her.

 

She couldn't do this. She couldn't have this conversation. Not now. Not in public and after everything that had been happening. She realized she was standing. Tony and Phil were starting up at her, startled. She managed a shaky but curt “Excuse me" before taking off at the fastest walk she could manage towards the exit, not looking back or letting herself listen to anything from either of them. She gave a tight, polite smile to the maître d', with a vague thought that she might not want to come back here again. She took the elevator all the way down to the parking garage and continued her long, stiff steps to the car, shutting out as much of her surroundings as possible. She fumbled in her purse, trying to find the keys. Trying to find the numbness from before so she could at least hold herself together until she was at home…

 

It didn’t work. She hadn’t even managed to locate the keys in her purse before she started crying. She felt her face contort, and ducked her head, hoping the garage stayed empty.

 

How had she let this happen? How little did she know her children? She'd had no idea Jamie wanted to leave. Even with everything that had happened, she'd had no idea. She had to remind herself that he was 15. She could stop him. She could protect at least one of them. The thought of them all out there, with Phil’s recklessness and Jamie’s frailty and Signe's temper and the Avengers enemies. No, she didn't even want to imagine it.

 

She heard, at a distance, voices. She resumed trying to find her keys in her purse, anxious to be out of the public eye. As they approached, she recognized them as Phil and Tony.

 

She finally located they keys, pulling them out of her purse and turning to the car, turning her back to them. She managed to get her face and any sobbing under control, although she couldn't seem to completely stop the tears or the sniffling. She could make out what they were saying now. They had stopped several feet away, behind her.

 

Tony's voice was angry and anxious and low " _Go_."

 

Then Phil’s voice, less angry but louder, and at least as anxious. "No. It won't help."

 

"Doesn't matter. You owe it to her anyways. You want to be an adult, get _over there_ and apologize.”

 

She heard Phil make a frustrated noise in the back of his throat, and she unlocked the car door. She heard shuffling footsteps behind her, but they paused, still several feet away, and out of her line of sight. She didn't want to talk to him. He was right. Apologising wouldn't help at this point. But she couldn't, quite, bring herself to drive away when he was trying to talk to her.

 

"Mom?" She didn't turn around. Didn't move at all. "Uh." She closed her eyes, biting back on a response, and opened the car door."Wait! Uh. Mom, I'm sorry." But, while he sounded upset, he didn't actually sound particularly sorry.

 

She turned around, to face him, which seemed to startle him. "Are you." He actually backed up half a step, intimidated. She probably was pretty angry looking, although she found her calm was starting to come back to her. Not the numbness, but the calm born from anger too strong to allow other emotions to interfere with it. “And _what_ are you sorry for?"

 

He stalled, staring at her with wide, surprised eyes.

 

She kept the frustrated sound that escaped her from becoming a scream, but it was audible nonetheless. "Don't apologise to me when you don't even know what you're apologising for. I don't need to hear that. You can go if you want. I can't stop you. But you are _not_ taking Jamie with you. If you do this, you are on your own. You understand? Visit whenever you want, but there will be no money, no tech, _no_ help from us until you come to your senses."

 

Phil frowned, anger rising "I don't need your help. I have a job. A condo, and a signing bonus. And I didn't tell Jamie to come. He decided that on his own!" She wondered if he knew how much it hurt when he said it was Jamie’s idea to leave. No, he probably wasn't paying nearly that much attention to how she was feeling. She processed the rest of his sentence. A condo and a signing bonus? So no normal teenagers job. Something in the industry. He really wouldn't need them financially, then.

 

Pepper was going to _ruin_ whoever had hired Phil under these circumstances, when he was so vulnerable, so blindly stupid with ambition.

 

"Who hired you?" She demanded.

 

Phil tightened his shoulders, looking more defensive. "You wanna know? Fine!” he dug a business card out of his pocket, throwing it down in front of her. “Hammer Enterprises! I'm the new head of their new nanotechnology division." He held his head up, defiantly.

 

Hammer Enterprises. Justin Hammer. She heard Tony, from where he stood several feet away. “Oh, you are _fucking_ kidding me. Hammer? Are you serious?”

 

Phil half turned back to Tony, his posture outright cocky now. "At least he’ll let me in a lab. You should have worked with me when you had a chance."

 

"Justin Hammer." she repeated. "You think you’re better off in Justin Hammers lab than with your own family."

 

His head snapped back around to meet her eyes, fury and stubbornness in every line of his posture. "Yes! _He’ll_ let me _work_." 

 

Work. He was leaving his family, with Signe, with Jamie, with Peppers broken, mangled heart, so that he could _work_. For a known felon.

 

She felt her face flush. This was all perfectly familiar. She could fill in the rest of the story from here. Phil’s expression, his confidence, faltered a little, looking at her face. Her voice was so tight it hurt to speak. "After - I thought I raised you better than that. You..." She choked on the tightness in her throat for a second, the last words a clear accusation "You are _exactly_  like your father."

 

She heard Tony's protest of "What?" as she turned and got into the car. She shut the door firmly behind her and started up the engine.

 

If Phil or Tony said anything to her after that, she didn't hear it.

****  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the wonderful Ann for her copyediting of this chapter.
> 
> As always, I'm on Tumblr as Constant-Instigator if you want to stop by and say hi/request drabbles/ask stuff/curse my name.


	12. Chapter 12

Jamie was exhausted. He had been tired after talking to pop, but after mom had come home, completely freaking out, and he and pop had had to talk to her … he just wanted to lay on the couch and stare at the ceiling forever. Phil still wasn't back yet from wherever he was. Mom had left again, saying she needed time to think, and Jamie didn't know where she or pop were now.

That left Jamie alone in the apartment. Which was fine. It was nice and quiet. He didn't even put on the TV.

There was a knock. Jamie closed his eyes and sighed. This day just wouldn’t end. "Come in!"

Tony opened the door, glancing around the room and hovering in the doorway. He was still wearing one of his impressing-people suits from meeting Phil and mom at the restaurant, and his sling. He looked...well, at least a lot less angry than mom. Which was a relief. Jamie didn’t think he could deal with Tony angry right now, espcially not alone. Tony probably wouldn't stay, but he wanted to be polite.

"Who were you looking for?" Jamie asked, wondering why Tony hadn’t checked on their locaions with Jarvis. After all, Jamie didn’t know where any of them were.

Tony seemed...uncertain. Uncomfortable. "You, actually."

Jamie gave Tony a confused, skeptical look. "Me?" Tony very rarely sought Jamie out individually. Jamie tried to remember the last time the two of them had been alone together, and could only come up with helping Tony to the ER. Other than that, nothing for years.

"Yeah." Tony came over and sat in pops’ chair, keeping his posture loose. "Hear you’re leaving the nest earlier than expected. Following Phil."

Oh. Another lecture? Jamie kept his sigh internal, and sat up, ready for yet another round of defending this.“Yeah. I wanna go keep an eye on him. Signe won’t. She’ll only protect Phil from other people. And, um. I think mostly he needs protecting from himself. I'm trying to take care of him better this time." He knew he sounded defensive. He didn’t really expect Tony to believe him. Tony, more than anybody, was aware of how badly Jamie had failed to protect Phil before. He almost expected Tony to get mad, or at least sarcastic. To tell Jamie how useless that was, and that he should just stay here and at least not upset mom. He braced himself, but Tony just smiled in an almost self-deprecating way.

"Well, you're half Potts and half Rogers, so that makes you pretty much a purebred Stark handler.” Jamie blinked. No anger. No guilt trip. Tony shifted his weight uncomfortably “Sorry about that. Really shouldn't have fallen on you. " Jamie frowned at what was nearly a vote of confidence. "Doesn't that piss you off? You’re 15. You can usually get away with being a selfish little shit until at least sixteen, but you never take advantage of it."

Tony was incredibly hard to understand sometimes.“It’s too important not to do it. And I _know_ he's gonna try again. I don't want to leave him alone. I don't even want to leave, but..."

"I get it.” Tony interrupted. The comment about Phil trying again had hit him, and even the small smile from before was gone. Tony took a breath.  He leaned in towards Jamie then paused, searching for words. "Look, parents...parenting can really fuck you up. Especially this part. And especially when you’re worried about your kids’ safety. Pepper’s…not at her best, right now. Yeah, you've noticed. So I'm going to give you something that...ok, she'd probably never want me giving this to you, but on a better day she'd at least understand. What I'm saying is _don't_ tell Pepper about this. Got it? I'd rather you not tell Rogers, either, but that’s up to you."

Jamie waited. Tony acting conspiratorial with Jamie was...weird. Uncharted territory. They were not people who kept secrets together. They just didn’t have a relationship like that. Jamie didn’t know what kind of relationship they had. He tried to shake off the memory of Tony’s voice declaring Phil his son, saying that Phil should stay with him. It was true, and didn’t matter now anyways. Tony seemed well intentioned now, at least. Jamie nodded.

Tony exhaled, glancing down, then back at Jamie. "I told her I wouldn't do this." He said, mostly to himself. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out...some kind of small strappy gauntlet thing. A weapon.

Jamie’s eyes widened, and he glanced up at Tony, who was watching him steadily. "For you. It should fit. I'll adjust it if it doesn't. Nice and flat, shouldn't show under a shirt. Great launch mechanism. Just point and shoot."

Jamie had, like all the kids in the tower, grown up around weaponry. It was all over the tower. It needed to be. He'd even fired some of them, in training with the adults. But he'd never owned any himself. Signe and Alma did, but he didn't. Mom always said she didn't want them weaponized. Now he was being given one in secret. One that was clearly meant to be worn secretly in everyday situations.

"For what?" Jamie asked, unable to think of anything else.

"For protection." Tony answered. "Protecting you, and the others." Jamie went pale, and Tony noticed. "It's just tranc darts. You won’t actually hurt anyone with these. But, it'll give you time to call for help if you need it. Should take out the average adult for a full hour, or Signe or Thor for about twenty minutes."

"Why would I need to-"

"You won't. I hope. But if you do, you're set." Jamie looked down at Tony's hand, offering the gauntlet. He took it, hesitantly. "Try it on. Make sure it fits comfortably." Jamie obeyed. It pretty much fit. Tony checked it over one-handedly, fussing with the straps. Tony’s hands on his wrist felt strange. Tony didn’t touch Jamie, basically ever. Except for during Phils seizure. He thought maybe Tony used to, when Jamie was very little, there were pictures of Tony playing with him and carrying him around when he was real small, but not anymore. “Looks good." he concluded. He looked up at Jamie, another croocked, not-right smile on his face. "You're set. Feel ready?"

Jamie shook his head, mutely. Tony laughed a little. "Well, at least you actually know that. Makes you smarter than Phil, so hey, that's got to feel good."

"Tony?" he asked, not really sure what he was asking. Somehow, being armed made him more nervous about going, not less. And he didn’t understand the shift in Tony’s attitude towards him. "Why are you giving this to me, not Phil?"

"Because Phil...can't be trusted with it right now. Pepper said today that he's just like me. She's mostly right. But, he’s actually managing to be worse at listening to the people he needs to listen to. Which means he can't handle this, and you need it more. In case he won’t listen."

Jamie pulled back, the beginnings of anger coloring his voice "You want me to use it on Phil?"

Tony closed his eyes for a second, trying to keep composed. "No. But if you have to, really need to, it won't hurt him. If that's what it takes to save him from his own… you can take him down safely until you get help. He'll be mad, but he'll cope. He's not...he's not thinking right, now. And, that will work just as well on supervillanous minions, Justin Hammer, Signe's temper or...temporarily out of control pseudo-parents. You name it. It's up to you. If you come back to me in five years, when the compounds broken down, and say you never fired a shot and you don't need this, I would be perfectly fine with that. But you have 50 shots there. And I will refill them for you any time you want. I trust you'll use them right."

Had Tony just suggested that Jamie could shoot _him_ with these?

This was the weirdest apology Jamie had ever seen.

But he was pretty sure that that was at least part of what he was looking at here. Tony was leveling the playing field for him so that nobody, Tony included, could hurt him.

It was an incredible, slightly creepy, show of trust.

Practical, though. Jamie nodded and pulled his sleeve down over the gauntlet. Tony smiled, gesture understood. "I'd also suggest not telling Phil or Big Blue about it, but again, your call. And, since I had your DNA on file, you're he only one who can fire it. Not even Pepper or Steve. It can't be used against you."

"Thanks." he said. Still uncomfortable with this, but less so than he had been. Tony gave two sturdy pats on Jamie’s knee, and stood.

"Don't mention it. Keep in touch, ok? It'll keep the amount of moping around here that I have to deal with down if you call a lot. Like, honestly, several times a day."

"I will. Every day at least." He promised.

"Steve too, ok? You..." Tony paused "You really can't understand how much he loves you. Honestly. Your head would explode. So, try and cut him some slack."

"I will. I promise." Jamie said, readily. And it actually sounded good. He wanted to. He didn't know when this had happened, but he actually wanted to talk to pop. Just in time to move out.

Tony started moving back towards the door, but turned around without touching the doorknob. "Really, you could call any of us. Not like anyone here _doesn't_ want to talk to you, as long as it doesn't get in the way of talking to Pepper or Steve."

Jamie smiled. Tony was trying to be sweet. To Jamie. It was..comforting. More than it maybe should have been. “Ok, Tony. I will. I promise. A lot."

Tony nodded again. "I'll see you before you go." Jamie nodded at him again. Tony paused one last time, nodded to himself, gave Jamie a small goodbye nod, and left.

Jamie pulled up his sleeve again, and looked at the gauntlet, trying to understand it's meaning and what he'd been entrusted with it.

* * *

Thor was surprised when Jarvis told him that Tony was in Banner’s apartment. As far as he knew, nobody ever went in there. If anyone would, he would have expected it to be Clint or Alma.

But, no matter. There was clearly movement between the apartments again, and a clear issue they needed to come together to deal with. That was all the invitation Thor needed to begin to seek the others out, starting with Tony.  By rights, Signe should have accompanied him, should have extended the first apology. He hated having to be ashamed of her for this, even while he was proud of her dedication to follow her brothers and defend them.

He paused outside of Banner’s door. There was furious shouting inside.  The raised voice was familiar, but hearing it shout was so unfamiliar Thor had to pause to recognize it. Clint Barton very, very seldom raised his voice, and when he did it was in battle, for reasons of being heard. Thor could not remember offhand ever hearing him shout at any of the family.

He opened the door as Clint continued to shout "- _control your son_!" Both men startled at Thor’s entrance. Tony was leaning with his good hand against Banners old and battered looking couch, Clint stood some feet away, breath too fast, pose on the verge of a fighting stance, although that may have been in response to Thor’s sudden entrance.

Tony spoke first, looking exhausted "Sorry, big guy, you’ll have to take a number. Barton’s not finished screaming at me yet. Your lecture will have to wait."

Thor stared at them both, taken aback by this senselessness "Is now really the time to be fighting amongst ourselves?"

Clint glowered at him. "That’s easy for you to say. You kid is six foot four with super strength. Do really, _neither_ of you see any problem with this?"

Tony responded to Clint " I don’t know what the hell you expect me to do about it. You want to yell at someone, go yell at Phil. Or just tell her ‘no’. She’s twelve. "

Clint angled a set of piercing eyes on Thor "And you? You’re just going to let this go?"

Thor shifted. With their children about to leave home, this was no time to fight. He’d assumed they would all meet as one before it happened, to plan how best to support them. Instead, this was as angry as Thor had seen Clint since Loki, and his rage was overflowing in all directions. It seemed Alma had decided to go with the others after all, or to at least make the attempt. Thor shrugged, allowing some small amount of the helplessness he felt to show through. "Signe’s intentions are honorable. She wishes to defend her siblings, and I believe she can. I trust her, and you should have more trust in Alma."

"I should, should I? And why should I trust Signe? Dunno if you’ve noticed, but she’s kind of ruined her good track record here, lately. Not so thrilled about Alma’s only protection being from someone who recently attacked one of her own." He gestured to Tony’s arm, who put up his good hand in what Thor has learned to recognize as a _don’t involve me in this_ gesture.

Thor would not snap at his friend. He would not. He kept his voice calm "She was attempting to defend Jamie. Her methods were wrong but her heart was-"

Clint cut him off again "She is out of control, Thor. That was the second time in a month she’s gone after Stark. Now you’re just going to…unleash her on the world?"

He didn’t much like Clint’s use of the word "unleash", but he tried to let it go. "That is what I came to speak with Tony about-"

"Tony’s not who you need to be talking to" Clint snapped back. "Neither of you have any damn control over your kids, and it’s getting other people caught in the crossfire. If you don’t both do something about this –" he stopped short of what sounded like a threat. A tense silence followed.

Tony’s voice sounded weary, bordering on mocking "If you’ve got something to say, spit it out. I’ve got better things to do today than sit around listening to this."

That did seem to make up Clint’s mind. His voice was quiet now, but no less angry and no less hurt. "We should have left already."

Tony froze, no change at all to his face or expression. Thor was stunned. He tried to place a hand on Clint’s shoulder to stop him as the archer pushed past him to exit, but Clint threw his hand off without looking at him, striding into the hallway and down the hall. Thor followed him. "Clint, don’t-" he stopped, realizing the door to Banners place had shut hard behind him, and when he turned back to where Clint had gone, he was just in time to see the door to the Barton’s shut as well, leaving Thor alone in a silent hallway, wondering how things had gone from bad to over so quickly.

* * *

Alma sat on her bed, watching Clint on the surveillance feed as he stomped down to her old apartment to argue with Tony. She hated this. She’d thought everyone was fighting before, but Phil and Jamie and Signe leaving was a whole other magnitude of fighting.

Stupid Phil. She didn’t even _want_ to leave. She didn’t think Jamie did either, or even Signe, really. But they couldn’t just leave him to do something this dumb all alone. Except…Jamie and Signe were useful. They could help take care of Phil so he didn’t do anything awful again. Like they should have done the first time. Them going made sense.

Her going…didn’t really make sense. Phil loved her, but he never listened to her, like he did Jamie. And she wasn’t going to be able to protect him like Signe could. And she was twelve! She shouldn’t even be having to think about this!

But if she didn’t go, what would happen? She’d either stay here, with nobody but the arguing grownups for company, or Clint and Natasha would move away, maybe really far away, and she’d never see any of them anymore. And without seeing Tony, she wouldn’t even be able to track Dr. Banner anymore. She didn’t know if Clint really could find him. Tony’s methods seemed really complicated. She’d lose everyone but Clint and Natasha and she just _couldn’t._ Her vision swam and she tried to keep her lips from quivering.

Alma knew perfectly well that the world was unfair. But this…this was so stupid and wrong and just seemed so completely _not necessary_ if people would just stop being such a bunch of butts and work together. Compromise somehow.

Maybe _she_ could find a compromise? She was the least important person in Phil’s plan, so at least if he didn’t really need her, she had a little more freedom. Clint though. Why would he compromise with her? He was really, _really_ upset when she’d told him what was going on. Well, so was she. She’d cried through the whole explanation. She still felt like crying. Clint just wanted her to be safe. Probably that’s what all the adults were worrying about.

Which meant…if she could make up a solution that resulted in everyone being safer, she would be able to get what she wanted. She’d have something to bargain with, at least.

She needed help. She scrambled up off the bed and out of the apartment. She could hear Clint yelling down the hall, and winced. Clint was not big on yelling.

Natasha’s rooms were right next door. As Alma reached for the doorknob, the door opened. Natasha took half a step forward, but stopped in front of Alma. She put a hand on Alma’s shoulder, looking down the hall. “I’ll deal with this, ok?”

She realized Natasha was talking about Clint yelling at Tony and Thor, which, ok, yes, that was bad. But not as bad as what was _going_ to happen, especially since she didn’t hear Tony or Thor yelling back so it couldn’t have gotten that bad. She took a deep breath, words rushing out before Natasha could step past her. “Clint was yelling about leaving and I don’t want to move and I don’t want to lose everybody and this is _so unnecessary_ if people would just stop being butts and I want you to help me figure out how to get what I want because you’re always super good at that and maybe you can show me how to make this safer but I really really don’t want to move away and leave everyone." Natasha just raised an eyebrow. "Please" she added with one last huff of air, just to be on the safe side.

Natasha looked less grim, almost pitying “Zaika, that may not be an option this time. I don’t know how much longer we’re going to be welcome here, or how many more threats to you Clint can take.”

She still felt breathless "I know. But can’t we at least try? Lets at least _try_." She pleaded.

Natasha glanced down the hall, then gestured Alma inside. “Do you have a plan?" Natasha was always asking her that. Every time Alma wanted something, Natasha wanted to know what her plan was to get it. It was annoying a lot of the time, but that meant that Natasha was the one to go to if she needed to get a plan made. And it meant she was listening.

"I…sort of? I was hoping you’d help me. I don’t want to lose anyone but…Jamie used to stay part time with Steve and part time with Ms. Potts, so I thought I could stay part time with Clint and everybody in the tower, and part time with Phil and the other kids. And I could go back and forth and maybe tell everybody how everybody else was doing, like you and Clint did after Phil used the nanites. I could do that. And I know a lot about the surveillance systems in the tower, maybe I could set something up at Phil’s condo? Oh! Maybe even something that you guys back here could watch. Then maybe Clint would let me go? Just part time?"

"I wouldn’t hold your breath." She replied dully. She looked sad…she clearly didn’t want to leave any more than Alma did. This was just all so stupid!

"I bet he would if you tried to get him to. You don’t want to go either, right?"

Natasha looked so tired. “I don’t want to, but you know sometimes there are things we can’t prevent.”

“And I’m tired of it! Help me make everyone safer so people will calm down. Then they won’t fight so much! If you help me I know I can make it so Clint can watch me, and everyone could watch their kids.”

Natasha gave her a long, considering look that might have been just a little bit proud. "Don’t you think Phil would have a problem with a surveillance system?"

Alma waved a hand "Phil won’t even ask. He’s got his head way too far up his butt right now to notice what I do. And he knows I like having a security system. He won’t ask what it’s hooked up to. And I could hook it up just in public places and stuff. Outside and entryways and stuff. On the roof. That’s no big deal" She didn’t want to betray Phil by setting up surveillance he didn’t want, but she really would feel better if there was a system, and if she could watch it. And surely Phil wouldn’t mind if that was the only way for her to keep seeing him? If he groused about it she’d kick his butt. "If we might get kicked out anyways, why not at least try it? We can leave later if it doesn’t work."

Natasha looked sad again. Alma wasn’t used to that from her, and it freaked her out. Her voice was soft, regretful, and too gentle for Natasha. “He doesn’t want to leave, you know. Neither of us do. But he’s afraid for you. Out with Phil, or here at the tower.”

Alma was truly baffled at that. “What? Just because of the jet? But thats silly!”

Natasha sighed. “Because of Tony.”

Alma blinked at her. “ _Tony?_ You mean, because of…with Jamie? But Tony can’t hurt _me._ I could throw him across the room. He’s all old and hurt all the time and not even superpowered. He couldn’t even have hurt Jamie probabaly if Jamie had actually fought him about it. Well, ok, maybe he could Jamie but I’m a _way_ better fighter than Jamie is. I could kick both their butts together, easy. That’s stupid. I am not gonna move because Clint thinks I could get hurt by _Tony._ ”

Now there was a small, proud smile tugging the corners of Natashas mouth. “Would you? Would you throw Tony if you had to?”

“Well _yeah_. Look at how bad everybody is freaking out because of what happened. And Dr. Banner always said he was thankful when people kept him from hurting anyone when he was angry. And I love Tony. I don’t want him to do things he’ll feel bad about.”

Natasha’s smile widened a little, then faded back a bit. “What about Signe?”

Alma drooped. “I…can’t fight Signe. She’s too big and a really good fighter. But most of the time she really does listen to me. I want to help make sure she doesn’t do anything she has to regret later, to. And Signe’s never, ever hurt me. I feel safe with her. I…guess I could bring a gun? MMnnh, I wouldn’t want to hurt her, but a gunshot would slow her down till I got help. Uggh.”

Natasha raised her eyebrows. “You’d shoot Signe?”

Alma chewed her lip. She needed to be honest. Needed to give a real answer. “If….if I _really_ had to. Because that would be at close range, so I could do an abdomnial shot. And Thor’s been shot like that before, right? He was ok. Something small caliber. Ugh. “ She flapped her hands, trying to flap out the tension. She didn’t like to think about it. But she also didn’t want to see the look in Signe’s eyes that she’d seen sometimes Dr. Banner’s. That regret, that deep guilt. Signe wanted to be a hero. She couldn’t do that if she lost control. She nodded. “Yes. I could do it.” She looked up at Natasha with her best big eyes. “So back me up? I can keep safe at either place. You trained me. You _know._ ”

Natasha nodded, slowly. “I know you _can_ Zaika. I was only ever worried whether you would.”

Alma sniffed, defensivly. “I’m not Jamie. If somebody tries to hit me I’ll hit back. Just _help me_ , ok?”

Natasha regarded her thoughtfully. “Sounds like you already have a plan. What do you need me for?" This sounded like a test. Alma thought.

"I want you to bring it up with the adults, and get me the supplies. I can set up a basic system by myself. It won’t be super secure, but I bet Jarvis would help hackproof it for me. Just make Clint stop freaking out. He’s making things worse. I can help with this. I know I can. I can make sure the adults know what’s going on, make everyone safer.”

"You know this makes you practically a double agent." Natasha smirked. That was her way of agreeing.

Alma grinned triumphantly around her still slightly misty eyes and wheedled "I prefer the term ‘liaison’. Since everybody will _mostly_ know what I’m doing."

Natasha ran a hand over Almas hair. “I’ll talk to Clint. If he’s ok with it, I’ll bring it up with Pepper. But you better be ready to deliver. If you don’t get the system running Clint will pull the plug immediately."

Alma nodded "I can do this! I’ll call if I need help setting it up though, that’s ok, right?"

"That’s fine. Now make yourself scarce while I talk to Clint. He’s overemotional around you lately. Go tell Jamie your plan if you can get him alone.”

Alma nodded again, feeling optimistic for the first time since the nanites. She grinned at Natasha, swooping forward for a fast, tight hug before darting back out the door to find Jamie. Maybe, if she could just keep everyone in contact long enough, everyone would calm down and let things go back to normal.

* * *

Natasha knocked on Clint’s door before letting herself in. Clint was sitting at the table, head leaning against one hand, very still. “Hi.”

He didn’t say anything, didn’t move. She joined him at the table, trying to keep anything in her posture from worrying him more. She sat, smoothly. Clint would already know Alma had gone to Natasha’s rooms. Jarvis would have seen her in the halls. “She’s a smart kid. Smart and tenacious.” Clint continued not to speak. “She has a plan.”

“I heard her plan.” Clint rumbled.

“I don’t think you’ve heard this one. It’s got a gun in it.”

Clint could see her perfectly well without moving his eyes, but he looked up at her, letting her know she had his attention. “Whose gun?”

“Hers.” She smiled. Clint raised an eyebrow. “She’s requesting to live with Phil part time, including plans for keeping armed and fitting Phil’s place with a surveilance system that feeds back to us that Phil doesn’t know about.” Clint leaned back, watching her steadily. She could tell he was weighing the options, just like she had. There was nothing there Alma wasn’t capable of. “Signe could look after them, take care of most threats. And I think she’d call the team if she needed to. And Alma would have the gun…just in case.”

Clint was silent for several minutes. “That’s only half the problem.”

Natasha grinned, wider than she’d let herself around Alma. “She’s expressed willingness to shoot Signe or toss Tony if she has to.”

Clint’s reaction was mixed. Relief and guilt chasing each other around his face. She didn’t wait for him to resolve it. “I told her I’d bring it up with Pepper if you gave the OK. What do you think?”

Another long pause. “Call Pepper.”

Natasha grinned again, and sent out a text.

For the next hour Alma stayed out of sight, and Natasha stayed put. Clint stayed mostly quiet, and mostly still, thinking and staying prepared. Eventually, Pepper appeared. Shed been buffed, peeled, styled and manicured to the hilt, and still smelled like expensive aromatherapy, confirming Natasha’s suspicions that Pepper had retreated to the spa to lick her wounds. Despite it all, she still looked tired, but at least less off-center than she probably had been. Natasha smiled sympatheticaly, gesturing Pepper in and to the sofa.

“Hi. You said you had…news? Good news?”

“Potentially, yes. Alma wants to go set up a surveilance system at Phil’s place that feeds back to the tower, back to us.”

Pepper balked “ _Alma_? But…she’s only twelve, why would she-“ Pepper looked to Clint, who looked away. Pepper looked at Natasha. “You can’t be serious.”

Natasha sat next to her. “She’s not going full time. Just a few days a week. Enough to set this up for us. Enough for us to keep an eye on them. Enough to see the other kids.”

Pepper gaped at her. Natasha took a breath. “Alma isn’t helpless. She’ll be fine. And she’s pretty good at getting her way with Phil. And I don’t think she’d make the same mistake twice. But…I’d feel better if Jamie was there to keep an eye on her.”

Peppers gaze got sharp. She thought about it, and Natasha held back a smile. Pepper was _thinking_ now. Planning. Not just reacting and not just on the defensive. She was invested. Present. Phil likely hadn’t realized he was infuriating Pepper enough to spark her back into action. Eventually, she spoke. “Audio?”

"Of course. And we could always set up a system where certain words trigger an alert sent right to us."

Pepper nodded, eyes inward, working through details.  “Do we have a layout? Or know where the cameras will be?" Pepper really was a marvel with details.  She might not be a superhero but she managed thousands of employees and was the ultimate authority on the security of the company and it’s various events. She’d even been instrumental in the original design for the tower’s defenses. What Pepper knew how to do was find a need and fill it.

Natasha smiled. "You would have made a good spy, you know."

Pepper rolled her eyes with a sigh. "No, thank you. My life is too exciting as it is."

"We don’t even have an address yet, but we will. And Alma will have her phone with her when they go, which we can track. I’ve been looking into this Justin Hammer. He doesn’t seem like the type to move fast. If there’s a problem, a trap, it seemed likely we’ll have warning."

"Ugh. He’s a weasel. But, yes, not very impulsive. And honestly, he’d probably be happier employing Phil than hurting him. So…you think I should just…let Jamie go?” there was a plea in her voice. She’d been told by too many people today that she should allow this. “Phil…I honestly can’t stop. But you think I should let Jamie go, too.”

"I think he’s going to go. I think you should make it clear to him that your behind him, and he can call us for help."

Pepper sighed silently, depressed again, but still thinking. "Surveillance then?"

"It’s the best we’ve got right now."

"This is probably unethical, isn’t it? Hiding surveillance cameras without telling Phil."

"Probably. Does it matter?"

"If I get to keep an eye on them? No, I guess not." She stood. "Thank you. I do appreciate this."

 * * *

The next few days served as a perfect reminder for Phil of exactly why he was leaving. He was still banned from the workshop- from the only thing that made him feel sane. Feel capable. Feel like anything other than a trainwreck. And the family was spiraling into complete shut down. Dad was avoiding everyone, Clint was snapping at anyone he had to interact with, Steve was so close to mute Phil had double checked his glasses software to make sure it wasn’t selectively losing things he said. Thor and Signe were MIA. Mom, though, was the hardest one to deal with.

She’d said he was just like his father, and that’s how she was treating him- exactly like she did when she was really, _really_ angry at Tony. Ever since his attempt to take them out to dinner she’d been coldly efficient. She still made him breakfast, got him new luggage for the few things he had that weren’t destroyed in the attack, and generally took care of things, but it was as if Phil was a business rival she disliked, not her son. Which, ok, was the uncomfortably close to the reality of the situation. Phil found himself a little more empathetic for his dad from times when he’d seen her level this sort of attitude at him, or, less frequently, other members of the team. She gave him nothing to complain about, no avenue even to have a fight. She was utterly cordial and businesslike, and he had no idea how to defend against that without being monumentally childish, which he couldn’t stand to do. Couldn’t afford to do.

The whole family was a wreck. But, really, wasn’t this still just a new extension of the same shit that made him want to leave? Everyone fighting and bickering or just avoiding each other, with Phil at the center of it, making things worse with his brokenness and stubborness and restlessness. At this point, even if he’d stayed, he’d still just be causing more problems for everyone.

At least, that was what he tried to tell himself. Some uncomfortable little voice that came from the general area of the knot in his gut kept suggesting that maybe if he stayed, just let himself be taken care of, gave up on what he wanted, and settled, that maybe the family could be repaired. The same little voice called him a coward for ignoring the idea because he couldn’t bring himself to imagine even trying it.

He’d been annoyed, at first, at not being able to hear his own voice. Right now, the voice in his head calling him a coward and a traitor was the only thing he could hear, and he’d have really preferred it go away. And he was really, really starting to miss their voices, even if he didn’t expect most of them to have anything nice to say to him.

The morning of his 18th birthday, he finished packing, and put on the suit that Alma and Signe had rescued from the rubble. It was, miraculously, in pretty much perfect condition. Mom had had it drycleaned. He looked himself over in the bathroom mirror, trying to convince himself the glasses looked less ridiculous when worn with business clothes, but didn’t have any better luck than he did three days ago, getting ready to tell mom and dad.

Well, ok, so he looked stupid and was wearing his handicap literally on his face. Deep breath. He still had a job and his own condo on his 18th birthday. And he was giving Signe and Jamie a good excuse to be out of the tower for the fallout, and dad a good way of avoiding Signe and not getting crushed or something. So it could be worse. He’d get to his research again and everything would be fine. Or, tollerable.

When he came out of his bedroom with his suitcase he almost ran Jamie over in the hall. Jamie had his suitcase to, ready to go. Well, he was packed anyways, he didn’t look particularly ready. He had the pinched, pale look that used to come right before he’d puke, and his eyes were big and round and not even trying not to look nervous. He was also wearing jeans and his usual t-shirt/jacket combination, in contrast to Phil’s suit. Well, whatever. Jamie wasn’t starting a new job. And he always looked especially dinky in a suit. Phil just hoped he didn’t loose his lunch in the van Hammer was sending over to get them. Phil did his best to smile at Jamie, and patted him on the shoulder. "Ready?" he asked.

Jamie didn’t even try to return the smile. He just nodded, grimly. Or maybe he just looked grim because he was trying to keep from puking. Phil sent up a silent prayer to nobody in particular again that Jamie NOT throw up in the van, or in front of Phil’s new benefactors. Phil was sure he’d be fine once he settled in a little.

Phil rolled his suitcase into Steve’s living room, and Jamie followed him. He’d specified to Hammer that he wanted an early pickup time, and been told the van would be there for him at 9am. Which was perfect, because there was no way that today wasn’t going to be awful, and he wanted to be out of the worst of it as early as possible. He’d showered during breakfast time to minimize contact.

There was a tense, wordless moment when he showed up in the living room- it was the first he’d seen of Steve or mom that morning, and he was surprised to find dad there to, sitting on the opposite end of the couch from Steve as mom stood on the other side of the kitchen island from everybody else. Weirdly, dad and mom were both dressed for office work, in suits, and dad wasn’t wearing his sling, which seemed like not a great idea.

Ohhh. Right. They must have been planning to go down with him to wait for his ride, for the look of it or for Jamie’s sake, probably. The clothes and lack of visible medical assistance were for the benefit of whoever might already be in the van. Can’t show weakness in front of an enemy, after all. And Tony had one an opaque undershirt, hiding the light from the reactor. Their clothes now were as much armor as the IronMan suit was.

Phil glanced at the time, up in the left hand corner of the glasses. 8:40 am. Just twenty more minutes of this. He’d survive. He’d known there’d be no warm words of goodbye or encouragement for him since that dinner, but he still felt the absence painfully. He wondered how much of their unease was expecting him to fail. Everyone else in the room seemed to be so devoted to not saying what they were thinking that Phil was going to have to break the wordless standoff himself.

"Any word from the girls when they’ll be down?" he asked, looking at Steve who at least seemed less unapproachable than the other two.

**STEVE: I’m sure they’ll be here soon.**

Phil pulled the suitcase in further, and sat down at the table. Jamie left his in the hallway and leaned against the wall a few feet behind him. Phil watched dad almost speak at least 3 or 4 times without actually opening his mouth. Phil kept his back to mom. He didn’t want to see if her cold attitude was breaking now they were down to the wire. He stretched his leg. It was healed now, at least mostly, but still stiffened up pretty frequently. He tapped a finger on the table, still put off by the lack of sound it made, and wondered if it would seem loud to the others who could actually hear the silence, instead of the absence of sound. He stopped tapping.

**MOM: Jamie, did you remember the extra inhalers I got you?**

**JAMIE: Yeah.**

Damn it, now it was bugging him that he couldn’t see either of them. He had no idea what they sounded like, no clue about their moods. Was mom worried? Angry? Cold? Pretending everything was ok? Was Jamie freaking out? Loud? Quiet? What? He considered turning to be able to see them, but it would be too obvious that he was trying to gauge their moods. And what was the point of that, anyways? Everyone was freaking out and mad at him. What further subtlety did he need?

He did look up, startled at the next words that appeared on the screen.

**CLINT: If you want to back out I’ll tell them for you. You don’t have to do this.**

Phil blinked at the door. It hadn’t opened. Judging by the others expressions, they hadn’t heard it. Clint and Alma must still be a ways down the hall, then, unaware that Phil was eavesdropping. The "at home" setting on the glasses really was sensitive.

**ALMA: I do though.**

**CLINT: Really don’t.**

**ALMA: It’s ok.  I’ll get it set up right away. I have all the supplies in my bag. I’ll text you as soon as I get the grid up. And Signe will be with me before then. And I’ll be back on Thursday. It’ll be ok, won’t it?**

Phil tried to keep his expression neutral. Clint trying to talk Alma out of going made sense. And if Phil was honest with himself, he wasn’t so sure about Alma coming either. Nobody was even mad at her.

**CLINT: You have your Taser?**

**ALMA: Right here.**

**CLINT: Knife?**

**ALMA: In my pocket.**

**CLINT: Phone.**

**ALMA: You asked me that on the elevator.**

**CLINT: Gun.**

**ALMA: _Cliiiiiint._**

**CLINT: I want that grid set up by 1500 or I’m going over there to get you. And call as soon as you get to this "condo". This is so fucking stupid. I don’t know why I’m letting you do this.**

**NATASHA: Yes you do. Lets get this over with.**

Phil wondered if anyone noticed the words scrolling past his vision in an apparently wordless room, especially since dad at least seemed to be watching him. But from way over there, there was no way he’d be able to read them anyways and his eyes seemed a little glazed over. Probably from not wearing his sling, the moron.

**DOOR KNOCK**

Mom moved to the door to open it to exactly what Phil had expected to see. Clint glaring daggers, Natasha so poised she must be furious, and Alma, looking slightly less nervous than Jamie and a whole lot younger.

Mom gestured inside **MOM: Come on in. We’re just waiting for Signe and Thor. Do you want some coffee? It’s still pretty cold out.**

There was still coffee? He could smell it but she hadn’t offered him any. He’d figured it was out. Fucking petty.

Clint shook his head, he never drank coffee, or anything caffeinated that might make his hands shake. But Natasha agreed and mom poured her a mug. Alma, with a pink backpack and no suitcase came and sat next to Phil at the table.

**ALMA: Hi.**

**JAMIE: Hi.**

"Hey. Ready?"

She nodded. She looked at least a little more optimistic than Jamie had, but then, she would be back in a few days, and hadn’t been getting the same cold shoulder as the rest of them.

**STEVE: Natasha, did you get the police reports I sent over earlier? Not today, but I was hoping you could check the third guy out. Maybe get the drop on any trouble before it gets out of hand.**

Ah yes, work talk. Nice, safe work talk.

**NATASHA: I’ll look over them before lunch and get back to you.**

**SIGNE: I won’t lay a hand on him unless he deserves it. I’m just as happy not to speak to him at all.**

Phil blinked again. Just like at the restaurant, the glasses didn’t differentiate between separate conversations. Signe, and presumably Thor in the hallway were mixing with Natasha and Steve and Alma in the apartment.

**THOR: See that you don’t. He is injured, remember that. ALMA: I brought some things to leave there, I hope that’s ok? NATASHA: Are these the same guys from the botched job in Jersey five years ago? MOM: Your coffee SIGNE: You’re over-reacting STEVE: Two of them are, I don’t recognize the third, and he’s not in the database.**

Phil took the glasses off, and rubbed his eyes. The words were moving too fast for him. He was a fast reader but the real-time text with several people talking simultaneously was too much. He let his eyes shut for a second. So, it wasn’t just crowded places the glasses wouldn’t save him. Even just getting his dysfunctional family all in one place could shut down his ability to track what was going on. Fucking fantastic.

When he opened his eyes again he registered first that Alma was watching him, worried. She’d asked him something, he was pretty sure, but he didn’t remember what. The next thing he registered was that Signe and Thor were now also crowded into Steve’s living room, and then that several people were looking at him, with varying levels of obviousness.

He felt his face burn and his heart pound. He couldn’t even manage to fucking leave the tower without coming across as a walking wreck. Without getting overwhelmed by just sitting on the same floor as everyone else. He blinked again, and flipped the glasses back onto his face, as if he’d had an itch or some eye strain or something. Something better than being unable to catch up when he wasn’t even doing anything. He knew that his face was beet red and that nobody was buying it, but if he played it off like nothing was wrong, hopefully nobody would actually call him out.

It worked, nobody said anything. He even almost managed to miss the worried, pained look on his mom’s face and the tense way his dad looked away from him. If this were happening to someone else, instead of Phil- If he wasn’t Tony’s son, he might have been able to dredge up some pity for Tony. Supposed to be one of the most brilliant minds on the planet, and his son can’t even keep up with a basic conversation. It had to suck for him.

But, it _was_ happening to Phil. So all he could manage to feel about Tony’s obvious disappointment was humiliation and anger. Then guilt at the anger because Tony had managed to actually avoid saying any of what he must be thinking, at least where Phil could see it. Now that he knew how much he could eavesdrop he was even happier to be leaving. It would have increased the chances of him catching the conversations about him that must be going on between his parents. Or, that would be, if they ever started talking to each other again.

Phil had no idea what the most recent parts of the current conversations were, but the clock now read 8:51 and that was good enough for him. The room was starting to feel far too hot and suffocating anyways. He stood up. "Eight fifty. We should get downstairs."

Judging by the startled looks, he’d said something weird. Or maybe talked too loudly. Maybe someone had asked him a question while he had the glasses off. Whatever. It was time to go.

He saw mom glance briefly at the kitchen clock, and swallow. Steve’s eyes flicked over the 4 of them, clustered around the table. He looked worried, but not panicked, just making one last assessment. He made the first move after Phil, standing and offering a hand up to Tony, who still looked glassy-eyed and who wasn’t looking at Phil. Clint continued to watch everything like he was picking his next target. Natasha seemed to be silently exchanging some kind of communication with Alma, and Thor was watching Signe, who had her head held high and- Christ, was she wearing a greatsword on her back? She was. Not exactly buisnesswear, Signe. Jamie was still standing just behind him, out of sight.

He grabbed the handle on his suitcase and started towards the door, trying to track the text flowing across his screen as the others organized themselves and started their goodbyes in a flurry of activity. It was too fast- much too fast to track, but he tried to see if anything was directed at him. Anything at all. A buisnesslike goodbye. A stern bit of advice. Something. He got as far as the elevator before any of the others made it into the hall, but the words followed him, no matter that none of them were for him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I'm over on Tumblr with an open askbox and a bunch of drabbles that I tend to post when requested or when I'm sleep deprived. I'm Constant-Instigator. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! ^_^


	13. Chapter 13

 

Signe sprawled on the couch of xyr new dwelling, feet dangling over one end. It was a nice enough place—four bedrooms and a small home workshop for Phil, plus a sizable and pre-stocked kitchen, a great room, and a shared gym on the ground level, which xe’d have to look into making useful. The decorating was fair, very modern, very trendy. But xe found xirself unable to get comfortable in the fresh paint-scented place, and xyr sword lay beside the couch, ready should xe need it. Xe’d never had to get used to a new home before.

Alma trotted back into the great room, carrying her backpack and glancing around at the corners of the room thoughtfully.

Signe propped xirself up on xyr elbows. This couch really wasn’t long enough for xyr. “What are you looking for? I thought you already did a bug sweep.”

"I did. But I was just thinking…" Alma trailed off, still inspecting corners of the room. Signe waited, but Alma didn’t seem to be continuing. Xe cleared xyr throught, which recaptured Alma’s attention "Hm? Oh. Sorry. Hey, do you miss Thor?"

"Well, it’s been two hours so no, not really. But I expect I will before long." Signe conceded, lying back down. “It’ll be strange not having him here. Or the others. I don’t know who I’m going to spar with."

"Think he’d want to keep an eye on you?" Alma asked, almost slyly.

"I…suppose so. He’ll call, I’m sure. And visit." Signe wasn’t sure where this was going.

"You’ll want to check in on him." Alma continued.

"Spit it out." Signe requested with an eyeroll.

Jamie reappeared before Alma had a chance to respond. “Anyone else want to go to the store later? I think I want more socks if I’m doing my own laundry.”

"I’ll go with you." Alma agreed. "But I have to get the cameras up first."

Jamie frowned slightly. "Cameras? What cameras?"

“I’m setting up security cameras. And I have to hurry up because that was my deal with Clint.”

"Oh. Uhm, sure. Do you need any help? I’m already all unpacked."

Alma nodded. “Yeah. Signe? You too? I could use your reach."

“Of course, but…why are you in such a hurry?"

Alma paused, biting her lip. "Keep a secret?"

"From who?" Signe asked immediately. Jamie was frowning now, and came over to sit across from them both.

Alma’s voice dropped to a whisper. "Uh…from Phil?" She said, with her best please-don’t-be-mad smile.

Signe and Jamie just looked at her. She signed slightly, deciding to press on. "I’m hooking up the camera to feed back into the tower’s systems."

Signe frowned "What? Why?"

"Because they want to be able to keep an eye on us, and I want Clint to be able to watch out for me. And having superpowered parents and not letting them look out for you is just _stupid_ ,” she whispered tartly, but her tone was resolute.

"They’re spying on us,” Signe extrapolated, somewhat insulted. "Does Phil know? No, you said it was a secret. Alma-"

Alma snapped back, still at a whisper but no less irritated. “He’s my dad and I want him to be able to watch me, especially since this Hammer guy is involved. What kind of person has a name like ‘Hammer,’ anyways?"

Signe wasn’t convinced. “This is Phil’s home. He’s old enough to decide if he doesn’t want supervision. How can you do this against his will?"

Jamie looked conflicted.

Alma looked stubborn. “It was the only way Clint would let me go! Plus, that’s why Ms. Potts let Jamie come, right Jamie?”

Jamie startled. “I…what? She didn’t say anything to me about it.”

Alma rolled her eyes dramatically. “Well, she talked to Clint and Natasha about it. You’re _welcome._ ”

Signe shook xyr head. “Phil is an adult. He has a right to his privacy here. He’s earned it.”

But now Jamie’s resolve had settled into place. "Phil is _technically_ an adult. I’m not. Neither is Alma. You’re not even, really.  I’m here because Phil needs me, but I wouldn’t have left if I didn’t have to. If this is what mom wants. If that…helps, we should do it.” Oh, that was a low blow. Signe did feel acutely bad for Ms. Potts, who was clearly not taking this well. She had every right to be upset, as far as Signe was concerned. "But look, we’ll try and keep them as much out of Phil’s way as we can. Focus on security. Keep them out of the workshop. He’s probably gonna pretty much live in there, anyways, and we can check on him there. You’re here for his security, right? This is part of that.”

"Then we should tell him." Signe persisted. "I don’t like keeping secrets from him like this, in his own home." Phil had earned this place, done more for his own independence that xe could hope for. Xe wanted to honor that, respect it. Which wasn’t easy, given how he was earning his keep, but still.

"Ok." Jamie agreed readily. "Just…not just yet ok? Let him calm down a little. He’s pretty wound up right now. I don’t want him to flip out and try to get us all to leave. But we’ll tell him. I promise."

Signe was sulking and xe knew it, but couldn’t help it. "I still don’t like it. We four at least shouldn’t be keeping secrets from one another."

Jamie was back to looking conflicted again, and for a moment Signe thought he might relent. He started, "Actually, about that." He shuffled his feet. “There’s one other thing I wanted you two to know about."

Alma leaned in, attentively. Signe, still feeling guilty about secrets from Phil, crossed xyr arms but granted Jamie xyr attention. Jamie pushed his sleeve up on his right arm to reveal a contraption of straps and sturdy plastic- it reminded Signe of some of Natasha’s weaponry.

Alma spoke up first, immediately prodding at the thing. "Holy cow, when did you get this? I thought your mom said no weapons for you guys. She changed her mind?"

“Er,” Jamie said.

"And this is a secret also?" Signe asked. "Why? What is it? Where did you get this?"

"Erm. Yeah. This is also kinda a secret. Just for us three, ok? It’s tranquilizer darts. And no…as far as I know, mom hasn’t changed her mind."

"Where did you get it then?" Signe persisted, eyebrows raised and voice lowered. “Did you…take this from the workshop?"

"No!" Jamie objected, insulted. "I didn’t steal it. Geez, Signe. Tony gave it to me. He made it for me. It wouldn’t fit me otherwise,” he concluded ruefully.

Tony? But that made no sense. "Why? I mean, I’m pleased you’re armed, finally, but did he give one to Phil, as well?”

"Er. No. Just me. Nobody but me can even fire it. I guess…he’s worried Phil isn’t up to it right now."

Tony was _still_ not willing to arm or protect Phil. Of course he wasn’t. Why would Signe think otherwise? He’d not even spoken to Phil this morning. Just stood there, barely looking at him.

He did arm Jamie though, which was intriguing. Alma piped up "But he gave you one? I want one!"

Jamie rolled his eyes. "Alma, you have your own stuff, and you’re way better at martial arts than me. You don’t need these to. Besides, you wear t-shirts most of the time."

"Well." Signe conceded "I’m glad your armed, even if it is just tranquilizer darts.".

"Yeah. Just…don’t mention it to Phil, ok?"

“Hey uhm.” Alma added, bouncing slightly restlessly on the balls of her feet. “I have a gun.”

Signe blinked at her. “So, we’re….all armed then. Except…Phil.”

Jamie looked at her steadily. “Phil’s armed with _us._ ”

“He doesn’t know that.”

Jamie shrugged “I don’t think he’s thinking about it. That’s what we’re for. So let’s just get those cameras up.”

* * *

Phil was exhausted. He dropped his jacket on the chair at his work desk and dropped himself down after it. It was only 9pm, but after the move-out and the move-in, the other three insisting on going to the store - which had sucked because they wouldn’t stay close enough together for him to use the public mode, but the damn department store was too big and full of people to use the at home setting. He should work out an "only people I know" setting, but that would have to wait a bit. Then they had to get ready for dinner with Hammer and it had taken 20 minutes to convince Signe that she couldn’t wear a freaking _sword_ to dinner even if she _was_ supposed to be protecting them.

Then the dinner itself was just a train wreck- at least with the private room and five other people he could keep up with the conversation, but it wasn’t much of a conversation. Jamie was sullen and sulking and Signe was in full-on Asgardian formal court pissed-off mode (which he’d never seen on Thor, so where the hell did she even get that?), and Alma had been doing her best but, well, she was twelve.

And then there was Hammer himself. He’d seemed slimy and unpleasant in the hospital trying to offer Phil a deal, but he was a hundred times worse now he thought of himself as Phil’s boss. He was busy marking his boundaries - making sure Phil _knew_ he owed Hammer, claiming his alpha status. Phil had seen more than enough power plays in his life to know them when he saw them, and Hammer was heaping them on. The little digs, the proprietary hand on Phil’s shoulder, the assumptions he was entitled to Phil’s time and attention. What an ass.

He’d been beholden to his parents and the team before but that was never like this- never to someone he couldn’t stand. He’d never considered having a boss before. Professors, sure, and he would have had managers and people above him at SI when he would have started…but never a permanent employer, who Phil would never be allowed to surpass.

Whatever. The guy was in his 60s, had to be. Maybe he’d retire in a few years and be replaced with someone less repugnant.

Phil took off the glasses and put them on the worktable. After a grand total of 13 hours of being awake, he was considering going to bed. He’d be starting out working from home here until Hammer got the rest of the department in order- which was fine. Phil didn’t actually really know how to run a department and was happy to have a few days to put his research in order before showing it to anyone else. He rubbed his aching eyes and stretched out his legs. Something flickered on the glasses and he picked them up again.

**DOOR OPENING.**

He turned around and had a quick little heart attack to see Jamie less than a foot from him, still in his suit pants and button-up. He must have yelped, because Jamie jumped to before settling back into weariness that matched Phil’s. At least Jamie hadn’t thrown up at all, so Phil was gonna count that as a win. He slipped the hideous glasses back on.

**JAMIE: Hey, we’re gonna watch some TV. You’re not working tonight, are you? You should come to. They were talking about poker later.**

Phil was about to agree - some mind-numbing TV sounded pretty good - but Jamie, who was secretly 45 as well as 15, always insisted on watching the nightly news. And by now Hammer must have released a press statement about Phil joining the company, which could very well end up on the news, along with god knows what details about Phil. He didn’t want to see it. "Nah, I’m gonna stay down here and set up the workspace for a bit. Maybe later."

He’d expected disappointment, or sulking, or disapproval. He wasn’t expecting tight lipped anger from Jamie. Jamie hesitated for a second before speaking. **JAMIE: I really think you should take a break and come out.**

What the hell was this? Orders from Jamie? Now? After that embarrassing scene at dinner? Who the hell did he think he was? "Well, tough shit. I’ve got stuff to do." He swiveled his chair back around, reaching to remove his glasses. Bony little fingers froze his hand just as it reached the glasses, not letting him complete the action.

Phil turned back to Jamie, furious and ready to snap at Jamie for touching the glasses. Why did people keep thinking that was ok? But Jamie was talking before Phil could start.

**JAMIE: Quit being a brat, Phil. All we want you to do is watch some TV with us. There’s no way you have to actually work on anything tonight, so you’re just avoiding us and everybody knows it.**

Avoiding them? How the hell was this avoiding them? He’d asked Hammer for a 4 bedroom condo instead of the awesome sounding luxury 2 bedroom he was going to get without them. He pushed Jamie’s hand away. "Fuck off. I’m the only one of us with a job, so if I say I have to work then I have to work."

**JAMIE: Except I know you’re lying. I was just at your meeting with your boss, remember? I know the schedule. I bet I was paying more attention than you were.**

"You were not! You were too busy acting like a bratty whiney kid who shouldn’t have been at the grownup table!"

Jamie was indignant **JAMIE: I was not!**

"Yeah you were! You were being a total kid about it!"

Jamie’s posture shifted, looked like he was yelling now **. JAMIE: I _am_** **a kid! I’m 15, Phil! I’m not supposed to have to be an adult yet, and I’m for sure not supposed to have to be your babysitter!**

"My what?" Phil shot to his feet. _" My babysitter_? My _babysitter_? I _let_ you come with me so you wouldn’t get ditched in the tower. You better not think you’re gonna give me any orders in my house."

**JAMIE: I _wanted_** **to stay in the tower! We all did! The only person out of the whole family that wanted this was you! And the rest of us came along for your sake. So don’t act like you’re doing me any favors. I could have been at home right now. Pop and I are actually, finally getting along and instead of spending time with him I’m here because you’re too stupid to be left alone!**

Phil’s mind reeled at that, stunned. He should have been struck speechless, but his brain didn’t need to be engaged for his mouth keep going. "Then go! I don’t need any favors from you, and I don’t need a babysitter. I’m smarter than any of you, I can take care of myself, and if you don’t want to be here then go home." He saw Signe and Alma lurking in the door, in shades of nervousness and concern. "Anyone who doesn’t want to be here can just go. Right now. I will call your parents and tell them to pick you up."

Jamie was even more curled in on himself now, and looking away from Phil, but his jaw was set and his eyes were angry. **JAMIE: No. I’m staying. You’ll have to take me out by force to make me go. You need me, I don’t care what you think, and I’m not leaving.**

Signe frowned, maybe a little sympathetically, **SIGNE: None of us are trying to leave. Why would you even say that? We’re just trying to help.**

"I don’t need your help!" His face felt hot and that last breath felt hard enough to have been loud. Jamie and Alma both flinched back a bit. He couldn’t need their help. He had to learn to be self-reliant. Especially if they didn’t want to be here. Didn’t want to stay.

Signe crossed her arms, leaning against the doorframe and giving him a you-should-know-better look. **SIGNE: You’re being absurd.**

"I am not. Did _you_ even want to come, Signe? I know Alma didn’t." So what was the point of this, then? He thought he’d been giving them an out, an escape. Was this actually yet another way he was screwing everything up for everybody?

Signe looked uncomfortable, but not hesitant. **SIGNE: I wanted to help you. But…I’m not in the same hurry you are to move out. That doesn’t mean I’d leave you now, though. Don’t treat us like traitors when we stayed with you anyways.**

**JAMIE: Phil’s the traitor if it’s anyone. He’s the one working for Hammer, who’s upset everybody.**

Phil fought back a wince. Everybody’d known it anyways, but he hadn’t really expected to hear it from Jamie. He’d have expected it from Signe before him. And this wasn’t fair. It wasn’t like SI was going to take him now, not really.

**ALMA: Nobody’s a traitor! Guys, you’re freaking him out!**

There was a sensation in his throat that felt like a sound but that had no words. It hurt, whatever it was, and he hoped it wasn’t anything whimperish. Something in an inarticulate growl might be ok. “Fine. Anyone who _isn’t_ likely to kill anybody if they go back to the tower can just go _home_ if they want. I don’t care. I’m doing just fine for myself without any of you, I’m making my own money, my own home, and I don’t need any of you!”

Signe frowned disapprovingly at him. **SIGNE: Stop that. You sound like Tony.**

Phil snapped "Why do people keep saying that!? Like it’s some awful thing? Am I supposed to be insulted that I’m like him? He’s a hero and a genius and my _dad_ and if you want to talk shit about him get the hell out of my workshop. Just because Jamie can’t live up to being like his dad doesn’t mean I can’t live up to mine."

Jamie was still now, squaring his shoulders some, looking at Phil with piercing eyes but with his head tilted away. **JAMIE: I’m not trying to be my dad.**

"No shit."

**SIGNE: Both of you stop it.**

"Signe, stay out of it." He snapped again, looking at Jamie. "Well who are you trying to be then, mom? Cause you’re not her."

**JAMIE: I know I’m not her. She’s the one back home probably crying because you’re too stubborn to listen to anyone but your own ego.**

Phil’s chest tightened as Jamie hit too hard yet again. He couldn’t think of anything to say to that. He shook off the image it brought to mind and settled on "Just get out." Hoping he didn’t sound as guilty as he felt, aiming for anger.

Signe was fully in the room now, and put a hand lightly on Jamie’s shoulder, Alma was several steps behind her. Signe looked like she might be trying to whisper. **SIGNE: Just leave it alone. He’s had a long day too.**

Jamie looked steadily at Phil for another long minute, trying to make Phil feel guilty. Succeeding, but Phil kept his eyes on Jamie anyway, trying not to let it show. Signe tugged on Jamie’s sleeve, and this time he glanced at her.

Phil took advantage of the broken eye contact to try and relax his shoulders a little. He was doing what he had to. He had to keep reminding himself of that.

Except none of them wanted to be here. Either they couldn’t see the way things were coming apart back home, or they still felt it was preferable than this. But Alma had commented on how bad things were back home, and they’d all noticed more infighting. But then, none of them were at the epicenter of the mess. Maybe it was more tolerable at the periphery. Or, maybe they thought it would get better with Phil gone.

For a moment Jamie looked like he’d turn and walk away, then be pushed back his skinny little shoulders again. He looked freaked out, but still somehow certain. **JAMIE: You’re being a jerk, Phil, but we’re all staying. It wouldn’t kill you to actually let us do what we came here to do and help you. It’s just little things. You could keep us company, anyways. We’re all kind of dependent on you now.**

Signe was looking at him now to, solemnly, but with genuine concern. Alma was hanging back several steps, eyes wide and watching.

Dependent on him? That honestly hadn’t occurred to him. He hadn’t thought of Jamie or Signe as needing anything from him other than a legal and legitimate means of escape. Alma, sure, but she was only here part time. Was Jamie getting an allowance from home? Was Signe? He hadn’t even asked. Did they even mean money? Obviously he wasn’t a parent. What the hell did they want from him?

This was a terrible idea. He didn’t even know how to take care of his own obligations, was he actually supposed to take care of them, to? Taking care of people and a family…he didn’t know how to do this. He could only fuck this up. Phil was the oldest, but he’d never had any particular responsibility for looking after the others before. There was a tightness in his throat, and he reached behind him to steady himself on the desk.

He reached up and pulled off his glasses, setting them down on the desk and rubbing his eyes again.

He needed to _work_. He could now. Had a place and the tools to do it that nobody could keep away from him. Maybe he could fix up the glasses. Or, better yet, work on something completely unrelated that wouldn’t remind him of how badly everything was going. He turned and sat down in the chair, his back to the rest of them. He wished he could hear if they were moving away, but he didn’t pick up the glasses or turn around. He picked up a data pad, opening his design folder.

After what seemed like a very long minute he felt Signe’s hand on his shoulder. He suppressed a sigh and turned his head to look up at her. She had an expectant look on her face. Probably waiting for Phil to put the glasses back on and be willing to talk to her. But he was done with that for now. Her expression faltered into a resigned smile. She patted his shoulder again, turned, and walked away. He didn’t look behind him. He got down to work.

* * *

Thor was not used to being alone. Old as he was, he’d done it before, of course. But not in his home in many years. And somehow the last 17 years seemed larger in his memory, taking up more room than 100 years before them. His apartment felt _empty_ although it had been less than 24 hours since Signe’s departure. She’d taken her things with her, and her energy. The feeling of her presence was gone from his home.

He wanted company, and considered his options.  Eventually he settled on Clint as the person least likely to fight with him, and was down at Clint’s door a moment later.

"Yeah." Came Clint’s voice immediately from inside. Thor entered. He paused inside the door at the sight of Clint, suited for covert surveillance and carefully packing away weaponry.

"Did I miss a call?" Thor asked, puzzled. He reached for his phone in his pocket. But Clint seemed to be putting things away, not taking them out. Thor wondered for a moment if the professor who set these events in motion had met his end this evening, and regretted his intrusion.

"Nope. This was a little bit of…personal work."

"Ah." Thor answered, uncomfortable.

"You need something?" Clint asked, and he seemed much calmer than he had this morning.

"Some company, perhaps? I have some ale, and some time…"

Clint considered a moment, pausing but not looking up. "Yeah, alright. Let me change, get things put away." He paused again, glancing up at Thor while putting a small gun in a case. He’d been more heavily armed than usual. He raised an eyebrow before bending back over his work. "You’re really not going to ask?"

"If I need to know then you will tell me." And he wasn't sure he wanted to know. Thor didn't presume to dictate the morals of his teammates, but Clint and Natasha were at times quite…conservative in their decisions about who was meant to live.

Clint smiled to himself. "Alright. Go ahead and have a seat. Be with you in a minute."

Thor sat himself on the sofa, noticing that Alma’s possessions still sat here or there in Clint’s home, little hair clips and bright colored pens, and that it seemed much less empty for it. He envied that. Clint silently finished his unpacking and disappeared into his bedroom, coming back several minutes later in simple loose drawstring pants and a t-shirt. He paused on the other side of the room, crossing his arms over his chest and watching Thor. "Why me?"

Thor furrowed his brow. "There was a time when you would not have asked. Do I need a reason? We used to, all of us, spend time together."

"Been a while though." Clint commented blandly.

"That was no preference of mine."

"Happened, though. Things are less and less like they used to be all the time."

"Today more than most,” Thor sighed.

Clint crossed the room, sitting on the other end of the couch. "He’s ok."

"Who?"

"Signe. He’s ok. Just saw him. All of them. They went out to dinner with Hammer. Some fancy French place."

Thor raised an eyebrow. He might have guessed that Clint would keep an eye on them, but he hadn’t. It seemed slightly dishonest, but prudent. Thor didn’t like it when those things went together, but this was a public restaurant and a matter of safety. "Thank you." He said simply and sincerely. Clint nodded acknowledgment. "And the others?"

"Nobody looked happy, but Hammer wasn’t presenting much of a threat at the moment. Nat’s on it now. Think Jamie’s hiding something, but they all seemed alright."

Thor nodded to himself. He settled back against the couch. "Perhaps if not for the NFL strike this year things would have gone better."

Clint gave a small but honest half-laugh. "The what?"

"The strike,” Thor repeated. "You said none of us spend time together anymore. We had no games to watch this year. None worth watching, anyways. One less thing to do together." It seemed like a small, simple thing, but Thor had been thinking quite a bit about how things were now compared to how they used to be. Watching the games had been something that most of the tower’s inhabitants had done together, laughing, shouting, bickering. There had been tension in the room, but not between them, well, not generally, depending on who was playing, but even the tension there had been good tempered and amicable.

"Miss watching the game with the guys, huh?" Clint was amused.

“Don’t you?"

Clint also settled back against the couch. "Guess so. Honestly hadn’t thought about it in terms of team dynamics, though."

Thor shrugged. The tactics commentary alone was an education he’d remember all his days, and he was pleased Signe had heard it.

"Thor, you know it’s ending, don’t you? This whole thing. Probably soon."

For a moment this cheered Thor, the thought that this ordeal wouldn’t last long, that soon things would be as they should be again, with no great divide between the generations or the houses. But Clint’s tone made him pause. It was far from optimistic. He looked at Clint, and his face was grim. "What do you mean? What’s ending?"

Clint gestured generally around the room, not looking at Thor directly "This. The team. The tower. The one-big-dysfunctional-family thing. It’s ripping at the seams. I mean, you _get_ that, right?”

Thor bit back his immediate impulse to disagree. The simple act of Clint believing this could rupture the family badly. "I don’t think it has to,” he replied as diplomatically as he was able.

This time Clint snorted. "Yeah? How do you figure? Tony’s self-destructing. He won’t even listen to Steve anymore, isn’t on speaking terms with Pepper, so you know he’s not going to listen to us. And, you know, Signe didn’t exactly help. Neither did the kids helping Phil in the worst way. Plus, lets face it, Tony’s not combat fit anymore. He needs to quit. And we are all _tenants_ , except for Pepper. You think, as pissed as he is, that he’s gonna want us around while he finishes the job? Alma says Phil’s going to try again. I doubt the results will improve anything." Clint’s voice ended quietly.

Thor made a sharp intake of breath and held it, considering. It was believable, but he didn’t want to believe it.

But not believing the worst hadn’t been working well for him lately. He exhaled. "It’s not inevitable."

"It’s damn close."

"Well I'm not ready to give up yet. There could still be something we could do."

"Well, lemme know if you think of it. Cause I have no damn idea. Starks always been a ticking time bomb. Once he’s done with this, and that’s gonna be soon, he’s not gonna want us around as reminders of his past glory days. And I don’t know what that’s gonna do to Rogers, but nothing good. Hell, I don’t know what _I’m_ gonna do when my time comes. Honestly never thought I’d live to see it."

"Your time?"

Clint blew an aggravated breath out his nose. "I’m getting _old,_ Thor. Not dying old, but I’m not that much younger than Stark. My shelf life is limited, as far as combat goes. You, Rogers and Nat are going to have to get used to the idea."

“You’re in fine shape." Thor objected, lying only a little. Clint was a fierce warrior and still so young…

Clint grimaced, and reached over the side of the couch to pull something out of a drawer in the side table. He tossed a small, light object at Thor without looking over, and Thor caught it.

Thor’s eyebrows went up as he recognized the object. Reading glasses. He looked at Clint, who was simmering quietly to himself. This was a month of revealed secrets. "I…would not have guessed."

Clint still didn’t look at him. "My _range_ is still fine, but it’s coming for me, just like for Stark. Maybe even Banner, wherever he is. I don’t know. But I can’t keep doing this forever."

Thor licked his lips, looking down before handing the glasses back to Clint. "That will be a loss to the Earth. You are both great warriors. But it doesn’t change my regard for either of you."

Clint smiled humorlessly. "Well, thanks. I’ll let you know when I’ve found someplace to hole up that’ll keep me from being a liability to the rest of you still in the field.”

"Sticking together would help with that."

“Not necessarily.”

"You are a pessimist, my friend."

"Yep. Hope that’s not news to you."

Thor smiled. "It is not. But, this is somber talk when I think we could both use some cheer."

Clint turned to look at Thor directly now, his smile more authentically amused. "Anything in mind?"

Thor grinned at being able to get some actual humor out of Clint. "Not really. For the two of us…there could be video games. Signe left the console here, and as I said, I have fine ale upstairs."

"Beer and video games, huh? Good old standby. Sure."

Thor paused before getting up, and Clint waited for Thor to reach his conclusion. "I haven’t said anything about…about Signe’s birth to any of you yet. For that, I am sorry. There hasn’t seemed an appropriate moment." Clint watched him with a raised eyebrow, but didn’t say anything. "You were all kind to me, never challenging my obvious lie or making me think about that which I would rather avoid remembering. I’m sure you knew quickly."

“The crazy ice powers were kind of a hint, yeah.”

"You have never held her bloodline against her, when you had more reason than any to do so. I wanted to thank you for that. I should have given you all more credit. My failure to do so was based on my own desire to avoid considering it, not my lack of faith in you."

"Tch. Signe was a baby, Thor. I know the difference between an infant and an enemy, I don’t care where it comes from."

"Nonetheless."

Clint chuckled again. "Yeah, ok."

"Even now, you don’t see her as an enemy." Thor persisted, thankful. He’d had so little opportunity to tell them all how thankful he was in the past month.

Clint sighed heavily, running a hand over his scalp. "Look, I’ve got a history with people who’ve made bad choices but ended up on the right side. If Signe ends up coming down on the wrong side of that, it won’t be because of Loki.”

Thor looked away for a moment. “You think that likely?”

Clint exhaled, leaning back. “I think he broke Stark’s shoulder, Thor. He hasn't got the kind of self-control he needs. And Signe could do a lot of damage with pretty little effort. And if that happens he’s going to have to live with what he did for a long, long time. But if you’re wondering if I’m thinking of Loki when I’m talking to Signe no, I’m not. From what I remember, you had a bit of a problem with over-reacting yourself when you were younger. But Signe's walking around Earth _with_ all his powers."

Thor shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know what further I can do.”

Clint’s voice was somber. “Seems to be pretty much out of your hands at this point. Nat and I can keep an eye on it, step in if we have to, but...the ways we can do that are limited right now.” He looked at Thor. "It could come down to a fight, you know. Signe's tough, he'll survive anything we'd throw at him, but if it comes to a takedown, that's what’s going to have to happen. The world will not be good to him if he goes rogue outside this tower. Hell if I know what we'd do with him afterwards, but..."

Thor closed his eyes. Signe could and would survive any injury her family would inflict. She would recover. But he could scarcely bear the thought of her feeling such betrayal. He couldn't be sure she'd understand, not for a long time. She was forgiving, normally, but now she wouldn't release her grudge against Tony, nor even discuss it. Thor was grateful his own father had cast him out rather than allow him to indulge the kind of destruction he'd attempted. Grateful he did not have to bear that burden of guilt, at least. But he lacked the power to grant his daughter the same opportunity. "What needs to be done will be."

 

Clint nodded, apparently relived at Thor’s acquiescence. He reached over to pat Thor’s shoulder supportively, nodding. "No more than necessary, I swear."

 

"I hope Tony is as understanding. To my shame, I've yet to speak with him."

"I'd let him ride out his bender, first. He’s locked in the workshop again. Don’t think we’ll see him for a while."

Thor nodded morosely. Clint continued "Now whose bringing the conversation down? Come on, lets go toss some pixels around. Nat’s on watch, the kids are okay last I saw, and there’s nothing we can do about it tonight. We just gotta wait."

Thor nodded again with a weaker smile than he’d intended. He would wait and see what he could do as the time arrived.

* * *

Jamie wasn’t generally prone to fidgeting, but he drummed on the arm of the couch, seething at the screen in front of him. They were just starting a segment about Phil’s working for Hammer as Alma reached over, snagged the remote, and flicked off the TV.

"Hey!" He objected.

She flopped down onto the couch. "You can get the segment online later. I don’t wanna see that,” she responded, surly.

"I want to know what they’re saying,” he insisted, reaching across to try and get the remote out of her hand. She moved it to her far hand and held it out on the opposite side where he couldn’t reach.

"They’re saying all the same stuff you were saying. I don’t need to hear it twice today."

Jamie got his knees under him so he could reach across Alma, still pressing the remote. "You don’t know that. This is important. Just gimme it-"

Alma responded by getting her knees under her and using her non-remote holding hand to push back on Jamie’s shoulder. She was stronger than him, and the push almost unbalanced him. "It is not! Stop being a jerk!"

He lunged again, more determined to have one thing, _one thing_ actually go the way he wanted today.

The next thing he knew the ceiling was flying past and he was on the floor, next to the couch. She hadn’t thrown him hard, but it had knocked the wind out of him, just a little. He’d fallen wrong, and gasped.

He heard Signe’s voice from the kitchen "Alma! What the hell?"

"Jamie started it!"

Signe was irritated "Can we please not fight amongst ourselves for five minutes?"

Alma was not cowed. "Oh you should talk!"

Jamie pushed himself up, catching his breath. Having to slow down his breath to catch it had cleared his head a little. "Guys" he said, loud enough to be heard but this time not so angry. They both looked at him. He levered himself back to sit on the couch. "Guys I don’t think this is working." They both looked disappointed, maybe a little guilty, matching his own feelings. “I don't think we can do this."

There was a moment of heavy silence. No need to ask for clarification. They must have been thinking it, too.

"What choice do we have?" Signe asked, knowing there wasn’t any good answer.

“You’re not gonna ditch, are you?" Alma asked Jamie anxiously.

"I’m not giving up on Phil, but…I don’t know. This isn’t working. We aren’t ready for this."

There was a long moment of silence. Had this been a stupid plan? Phil was just dodging him now, instead of the adults. And the adults were…adults. Better equipped to deal with problems than he was. "We’re just kids,” he concluded.

Alma piped up, "Natasha was working younger than I am."

Jamie rolled his eyes. "Yeah but that was…wrong. We aren’t like that."

"Like what?"

"Come on, Alma. Natasha was trained since when she was little to be a super spy. She had all kinds of special training and classes and…stuff,” he concluded uncomfortably. He had suspicions about Natasha’s training that had come from all the things nobody ever said about it, and from Natasha’s own steady refusal to consider herself fit for raising a kid.

"Well, so have we,” Alma pouted.

"Not really." He stated skeptically.

Signe looked thoughtful from across the room. "No, she’s right. Normal kids don’t know how to do half the things we can do. We do have specialized training."

As Jamie considered it, it was true. Alma was like a junior spy, and Signe was a great fighter, and Phil…well, that was less of an asset right now, but…

"I don’t." He looked down, trying not to feel sorry for himself. This wasn’t the time for that. He looked back at them and shrugged.

Alma looked almost pitying, Signe stubborn and thoughtful. There was a long silence, eventually broken by Signe. "That’s not true, though."

He raised an eyebrow at her, not wanting to be humored at the moment. "Ok, fine. I know more about stocks and different languages than most kids my age. Not real helpful right now."

Signe shook her head definitively. "That’s not what I meant. You know about leadership."

Alma lit up a little, happy to have any flimsy excuse to praise Jamie “That’s right. You're our leader."

Jamie snorted unenthusiastically. "Am not. We aren’t a team. We don’t have a leader. Just because I think of plans sometimes doesn’t make me a leader. You guys know better."

Signe headed towards the couch. "Well, I’m willing to follow your direction. And I’m two years older than you, so you must be a pretty good leader."

Jamie’s skepticism only deepened. "Yeah right. You’re gonna follow my directions? Since when?"

Signe looked serious. "Since always. Not blindly, but I do listen. Now we’re on our own maybe we should make it more formal."

Alma looked dubious "But if one of us is the official leader, shouldn’t it be Phil? He’s oldest, and this is his house." She didn’t look enthusiastic about the idea.

There was another tense silence. Signe crossed her arms over her chest. "All in favor of Phil being our leader?" The silence continued as they looked at each other, nobody raising a hand. Jamie felt a little embarrassed about it. He smiled uncomfortably. "Didn’t think so." Signe concluded, sitting on the couch. “You’re going to end up giving orders anyways, we may as well agree ahead of time to prioritize them."

"I don’t give orders,” Jamie objected.

"Yeah you kinda do." Alma smirked at him. "Like, all the time."

"I do not!" Jamie was blushing. Did he do that? He never felt in control of anything.

"Since you were nine,” Signe stated, putting her feet on the coffee table. Alma snickered. "You made sure we played games Alma could play when she first got here." She shrugged again.

"And you two…are going to listen to me?" he asked wryly. Right. That was going to happen.

"I will." Signe stated with a comfortable air of certainty.

Alma gave him an evaluating look, then nodded. "Yeah, me to."

Jamie gave them both a thoroughly critical look. “Really,” he tried again. They both nodded. "Ok then. Signe, get over your grudge with Tony. Cause I don’t know what’s with you two but it’s seriously not ok."

Signe flinched but Alma straightened enthusiastically. "Yeah!" Alma seconded readily, turning to look at Signe expectantly.

Signe actually looked away, frowning.

Hah. “Uh-huh,” Jamie concluded. "I thought so." He slouched back against the couch. Alma pouted, made an irritated noise and wilted against the seat.

The silence stretched out for a long time, each of them lost in thought. Leadership. Right.

He wished he was a leader. Both his parents were leaders. They could probably really use one right now. But they were kids, and he wasn’t the oldest or the smartest or the strongest or the one with the most skills.

"Well, I’ll follow your lead,” Alma concluded loftily. Jamie looked at her with a bemused smirk. It was nice of her to say, anyways.

"That’s nice, Alma, but the last time I helped organize a plan…this happened. And the time before that, we all got in trouble. I don’t have a great track record when it’s something actually important."

"Messing with Phil’s brain was _his_ idea, not yours." Alma countered. "No way you would have planned that, even if you knew that much about nanites. All this happened because we were listening to Phil instead of you. You're probably the only reason he's not dead."

Jamie remembered Tony’s comment about Jamie being a ‘purebred Stark handler’. He fidgeted with the bands under his shirt. Tony seemed to think Jamie could do this. So did pop. Suddenly, the fact that everyone’s expectation seemed to be for Jamie to fix this hit him, and he felt sick to his stomach for the second or third time that day. "I don’t think I can do this,” he said, and his voice was tight and a little shaky, and that was the most un-leader-y thing he could have said. Why did people think he was the right person for this?

Signe turned her face back to look at Jamie, face sympathetic. She spoke, radiating sincerity: "Doing the job because it needs doing, even if you’re not sure you’re up to it, because there’s no one better to do it. That’s what heroes do."

Jamie was startled. But that just about clinched it. "And I’m not a hero." He said emphatically.

"But you could be,” Signe countered, as Alma’s braids whipped back and forth, watching each of them.

Jamie stood suddenly. "Signe, look at me. Does this look like a hero to you?" he held out his skinny arms, rolling up one sleeve to show its short, bony length. He gestured to the rest of him. Signe knew better. She’d known Jamie his whole life, knew how fragile and weak he was.

Signe’s lips thinned, and she pulled out her phone. She flicked through a few screens, looking for something. She found it, and held the phone out for Jamie to take. “Yes,” she said simply. Jamie looked down at the phone. It was pop. He’d seen the picture before. It was one from before the serum. He was wearing his dog tags and a t-shirt and looking generally pathetic, but looking determinedly off at something to the side. He was almost as scrawny as Jamie. It wasn’t a picture that came up often, but Signe was sentimental and had downloaded a lot of the pictures in the common tower archive.

Jamie sighed. He was about to object - that pop had gone to make himself better, an option not open to Jamie. Remembering Phil’s comment about experimenting on Jamie instead next time, he suppressed a shiver. He didn’t even want that.

But Signe wasn’t done yet. "Your father had the makings of a hero before he was changed. It was the qualities that he already possessed that made what he is possible. He was and is loyal, hardworking, self-sacrificing, and brave. And after the past month, nobody will convince me that you aren’t the same. You might not be a warrior, but you are a hero. Or, you can be."

"Aww, Signe!" Alma said, hands clasped in front of her. "That was so sweet!" She looked back at Jamie, smiling. "She’s right. You should listen to Signe this time."

Jamie dropped his hands, looking at them both. Both sets of eyes watching him held so much trust. It was touching and intimidating. He looked down at the phone again. Well, it wasn’t like he needed muscle for protecting Phil from himself.

But— He looked up at them. "Neither of you blame me for Phil almost dying?"

They both looked sheepish. Signe shook her head and answered, "No more so you than us. If you had any crime, it was excess loyalty to Phil when you should have listened to yourself. We would neither of us hold that against you."

"Uh-huh. Being so stupidly loyal to one person that you cause a whole bunch of problems for everybody else,” Alma muttered, purposefully not looking at Signe. "Pretty stupid." Signe shot her a mild dirty look before Alma finished "But usually forgivable,” she concluded, looking back at Jamie and not at Signe at all. Jamie suppressed a smirk.

They both looked at him, waiting.

Oh, so he was in charge now. Of the three of them, anyways.

Right. Uh. He swallowed.

"Ok. Well, if we’re gonna be ‘heroes’ or whatever we have to be better than this. Better than fighting each other. I mean…it’s not like we’re saving the world, right? Just…just one person. And there’s three of us." Jamie’s chest felt tight. It might just be one person, but it didn’t feel any less serious than if it was the whole world. "And….and we need to use our resources better. We still can call home when we need it. We should forget about being embarrassed and just do whatever we have to do. If we’d just done that in the first place Phil would have been safer. We have backup, and we should be willing to use it." They were nodding, listening attentively. Maybe they’d forget all this tomorrow, but thinking it through was at least helping him clear his head. "And we need to not fight with Phil. Me too. I’ll…I’ll be more careful. He does the stupidest stuff when he’s freaking out, so we have to get him to calm down. I mean, we know him- we can do that, right? When he actually _thinks_ he’s smarter than any of us. We just have to make him think. And...and he likes thinking, right? So that shouldn’t be too hard."

He started pacing. "Alma, you’re good at surveillance and communication. Make sure everybody gets the information they need to not spook him even more, and try and put off fights till he comes around some. And Signe...you're not just a bodyguard. You're the only one of us he actually meant to bring with him. Use that. And me...I don't know. I _want_ to get through to him somehow about the fact that he's giving potentially super-weaponizable technology to a bad guy. I want to figure out why he thinks he has to do this. Maybe I can get him to talk, tell me what’s actually freaking him out. He’s acting all weird. I think he’s hiding something from me."

He looked back at Signe and Alma, to gauge their level of skepticism or reluctance and was surprised to see admiration on each of their faces. "W-what?" he asked. It was jarring.

"Oh, we should have put him in charge forever ago,” Alma enthused. "Jamie, that was really good!" She looked at Signe. "Why didn’t we put him in charge before?"

Signe smiled at Almas enthusiasm. "Well, at home we had parents to guide us. This is our first time out alone like this."

"Not alone." Jamie corrected. "We have to stop thinking of it like that. I don’t just want to help Phil. I still feel really bad for the grownups. You saw them this morning. I want everyone to get along again. I…don’t know how yet. But if we keep thinking of them as being not part of that, that’s…really mean. They all love Phil, too. It would be better for Phil-" He paused, shook his head, and amended: "It would be better for everybody if everyone was getting along and talking again. Clint and Natasha had the right idea. We have to keep the lines of communication open. So for now, focus on telling the adults things that will encourage everyone to cooperate and talk to each other and to Phil." He stopped pacing again and looked at them.

Alma was grinning now. "Jaime, that was so cool! You’re so cool!" She bounced off the couch and tackled him with a hug. Jamie laughed, confused, working to not fall over. Cool wasn’t something he got called often. He looked at Signe over Alma’s shoulder.

Signe nodded with an air of sanctimonious approval. "Very cool." She stated, then smirked. But she seemed sincere. He gave Alma a quick hug back.

"Uh. Thanks. We all on the same page, then?" They both nodded. "Ok. Uhm. Good…meeting?" he grinned. This was so goofy. He shook his head. "I’m gonna go make a sundae. You guys want some?"

Alma bounced back onto the couch. "Cool _and_ he brings us ice cream. Best leader ever."

"Yes, Thank you." Signe agreed smoothly.

Jamie nodded and headed to the kitchen, hearing them debating movies in the background. This was so weird. Did he really usually give orders? Maybe…maybe he did. Phil did call him bossy a lot. But maybe that was ok? He pulled out the ice cream and the chocolate sauce. Well, he felt confident about everything he’d said so far. "Hero" might be going a bit far, but maybe he could be something kind of like a leader. Mom was a leader, after all. And Jamie was a lot like her, wasn’t he? And the girls and the adults seemed to think he could at least help. And…yeah. He was gonna at least try. He couldn’t not try, after all. And if the girls were going to throw in and do their best to help, maybe as a team this could work.

* * *

Alma was full of ice cream, had checked in with Clint, and was feeling a little better about her life right now. It felt better to have a plan- a purpose. A team, working together.

And Clint had been hanging out with Thor! For video games instead of work! In just a few hours people were getting along better.  She was careful in what she told them, tried to make sure they felt like the kids were safe and ok.

If only Phil would stop being such a butt, maybe he could make up with everybody. Only he wasn’t listening to anyone. It sounded like Tony was doing the same thing. Signe for sure was.

Who _would_ they listen to? Nobody in the family, that much was pretty obvious. But they wouldn’t listen to an outsider. They might listen to Bruce, but she couldn’t reach him.

Wait, not nobody in the family. Nobody _from the tower_.

Jamie’d said to use their resources, call in reinforcements if they had to.

She knew what to do. She picked up her phone, dialed, and it only rang once before pickup. “Uncle Rhodey? We need help.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Maskedfangirl for last minute pinch-hitter copy-editing. 
> 
> As always, I'm on Tumblr as Constant_Instigator, with an open askbox and the occassional drabble.


	14. Chapter 14

Steve gripped the bottle of Powerade in one hand, a small packet of aspirin in the other, took a deep breath, and braced himself. The elevator door slid open to the workshop, and he was predictably hit by a wall of the noise Tony always insisted was music. He stepped off the elevator and surveyed the damage. Mugs and glasses all over the place, discarded wrappers of various foodish products littered the floor. A worrying shortage of plates. A workbench, turned over, although all the actual workspaces were fine aside from the litter, and the coffee table was still broken. Pretty much what he’d expected, and not what he came here to check on.

It did look a lot like nobody had been up here since the kids left, four days ago. Not even Pepper. The smells of coffee and alcohol were pervasive. Steve tried not to panic. He hadn't thought about it till Alma mentioned it on the phone this morning, but Tony had been prescribed a very large bottle of painkillers that would mix really badly with alcohol. Normally, he knew Tony knew better than to mix the two, and in fact he tended not to take his painkillers at all, but the last time he had seen him, Steve wasn't sure Tony was thinking clearly enough to remember that, and if Tony ordered it, Jarvis wouldn’t give updates to any of them.

So where was Tony? Not at any of the workstations so...yes. There he was. Stretched out on the couch, asleep or blacked out, with his mouth hanging open.

Steve worked to ignore the tightness in his chest from how still and limp Tony was. He cursed himself for not having come sooner, and hurried over to the couch. Tony could be dead of alcohol poisoning by now or- no. No, he was breathing. Steve crouched next to the couch, and up close he could actually hear Tony snoring slightly under the racket from the speakers. That helped. He touched Tony’s shoulder. "Tony". No response. "Tony." he said again, a little more urgently, nudging his shoulder, hoping to be heard over the noise. Tony's lax face screwed up, his eyes squeezing tightly shut, presumably against the light. "Jarvis, dim lights to 50% and please cut the music." The music stopped suddenly as the lights dimmed, and the sudden silence woke Tony more effectively than Steve's voice had. He opened his eyes, wincing.

"Jesus, Steve, what?" He grumped, pushing himself upright on his good arm. Steve was pleased to hear no slur in his voice. Tony froze mid-movement, eyes widening and locking on Steve “The kids-"

Steve held up his hands "No, nothing like that." He tried to keep his voice down. Both Alma and Jamie had been calling him regularly, and while none of the kids seemed happy, there wasn't any immediate danger.

Tony slumped back on the couch, panic draining to impatient irritation "Then what?"

Steve was going to have to confess it. But first, he offered up the bottle of Powerade, uncapped. Tony took the bottle, and drained it, pretty much pouring the whole pint down his throat  in one go. He tossed the empty bottle on the other side of the couch. Slightly placated, he turned his attention back to Steve.

Steve hesitated just a moment longer before admitting "Came to check on you. I was worried." Tony responded with the expected sneer, and shifted position to get up. Steve held up the packet of aspirin. Tony eyed it, looked at Steve disapprovingly, then settled back into the couch.

“Can’t have that." He grumbled. "Doesn’t mix well with the other one." So Tony had been taking the painkillers. And from the smell, mixing them with serious binge drinking. It was a miracle he was still alive. Steve slipped the aspirin back in his pocket, ashamed to have brought something else that Tony shouldn't be taking. This was a level of self-destruction Steve hadn’t seen from Tony in a long time.

"Do you even remember hangovers?" Tony grumbled. It wasn't meant to sting, but it did.

"Not really. I dehydrate pretty easy though." Steve admitted. "It's similar." He needed to keep Tony talking to him, make sure not to get kicked out. Maybe if he stalled long enough he could find some way to get Tony downstairs, eat something, maybe talk a little…

"Really not." Tony said, irritated. "So, you’re here to, what, check my pulse and give me a breathalyzer?"

"If you hadn't woken up, yes. Since you're up, maybe you can just tell me how you’re doing." No, that was wrong. Too fast. He prepared for backlash.

"Sober. Utterly and completely" Tony answered, clearly not pleased with the situation. "That satisfy you?"

“It…helps, yeah.” Steve ran his eyes over Tony. He looked rough, but not inebriated, " The stuff they gave you...you know, it's dangerous to mix with alcohol." He was trying to bring this up non-judgmentally. Make it sound like he was explaining his concern, rather than warning Tony not to drink.

Tony snorted. "Yeah. Noticed that." and Steve's panic rose again, followed swiftly by a wave of nearly paralyzing guilt. So, Tony had tried drinking. Well, of course he had, the place reeked of alcohol. Which meant that sometime while Steve had been downstairs moping, Tony had been up here courting kidney failure. Alone. Tony really could have died because Steve was too absorbed thinking about himself and the kids to check on him.

"Steve?" Tony's voice sounded concerned. Steve realized he probably looked really pathetic, kneeling on Tony’s floor with his head hanging down like that. He took another deep breath, and looked up at Tony, who looked even more worried than he'd sounded. "You Ok, Cap?"

Steve pushed himself to his feet. He didn't know what to say to that. Why would Tony even ask it? Nobody in the tower was ok. Their family was disintegrating, in danger. Their kids were gone; far too early and with far too little protection. Tony had nearly killed himself within a month of Phil doing the same. How could Steve possibly be ok? What sort of answer was Tony expecting? He tried to look calm, or composed at least, and met Tony’s eyes, trying to formulate some kind of answer.

He must have failed miserably. Tony's brows drew together, his eyes wide and his lips tightened. Steve gave up trying to come up with an answer, since Tony seemed to be trying to think of what to say. Eventually, Tony settled on “Want a drink?"

Steve flinched. He couldn’t help it. That had not been what he'd wanted to hear. He tried not to lecture. Tried not to start a fight. He just had to keep from making Tony angry enough to kick him out. "No point for me. and I'd rather you didn't." He wanted to beg Tony not to make Steve watch him drink himself to death.

"How 'bout a smoothie?" Tony offered. And that was the best thing Steve had heard in a long time. "I'll make us a couple."

"That...yeah, thanks" Steve said, trying to sound grateful and not just pathetic. Tony was being polite now, but when he was hurting this bad it was best not to let Tony see your weaknesses too clearly.

"Take a seat" Tony said, walking backwards. Tony was surprisingly quiet as he dug out some fruit, ice and yogurt and quickly made up their drinks. Steve sat on the couch, leaning his head back, trying to unknot his neck and shoulders. Trying to think. To make a plan. Eventually, Tony broke the silence "I forget, sometimes. That you can't get drunk. That you’re not just, y’know, a prude. I always wondered, would you, if you could?"

"Right now? Yeah, probably." Steve confessed, eyes still closed. A stupid thing to say.

"Hmh." Tony said "Ever get jealous?"

"Sometimes."

"Huh. No wonder you're such a hardass about it." Tony said, walking back with two glasses. How many glasses did Tony keep up here?

"Mostly I just don't want to lose you." Steve answered, quietly accepting the glass Tony offered without looking at him.

"Lose me, huh? Actually, I'm pretty hard to get rid of. Ask Pepper. She divorced me and still can't get rid of me." Tony sprawled over the other end of the couch. "Well, she hasn't yet." He looked away "Guessing she'll have better luck now."

Steve almost choked on his smoothie. He looked at Tony, letting the horror show on his face. Tony leaned back, surprised and confused, "What?"

"Tony, nobody wants to get rid of you. Don't talk like that."

"Heh. Yeah, pretty sure they do. You noticed how my son bolted out of here the moment I couldn't call the cops to go collect him? Signe snapping my collarbone in three places?" he gestured at the sling strap keeping him from jostling the injury. "How Pepper's barely spoken to me in a month? I've hardly seen Natasha or Thor. Clint hates me. And Jamie-" he interrupted himself, unable to complete the thought. "I'm honestly surprised you even came up here."

Steve had figured that Tony would be drinking, but he'd assumed it would be an impulsive thing. This sounded like something very different. Premeditated. Steve was struck speechless. He rallied, tried to think of how to respond. "That's...it's not...I'm sure Pepper's worried about you too.  Nobody wants you gone. Please, don't do this." He didn’t even try to keep the desperation out of his voice. He needed Tony to understand how badly Steve needed him not to…

"Do what?" Tony looked at him sideways, his expression a mixture of insulted and confused.

Steve didn't want to say it. He settled on "I can smell the alcohol."

Tony blinked at him- confusion, then understanding, then anger. "You really did think I was up here drinking myself to death. Jesus. Look, fuck off. I am perfectly and completely sober, just like I said." He stood up, walking away again.

"I can smell it. Strongly. You’re sober now but..."

"I poured it out." Tony snapped. "What you are smelling is my sink. Which you can only even smell because of that damned bloodhound nose of yours."

That caught Steve off-guard. Poured it out. Actively kept himself from drinking. Steve let out a long breath. Oh thank God. He closed his eyes a moment, letting the relief sink in. When he opened them, Tony was clearly still angry at his implication. "Sorry." He said, trying to sound at least a little sheepish while he was feeling so relived. "Sorry." he said again with more feeling "Just...you kept going on about nobody wanting you around and...sorry. Guess I'm a little gun-shy after everything going on lately."

"Just because nobody wants me around doesn't mean I'll actually go away." Tony responded bitterly. "Like I said, just ask Pepper. Nope, you’re all going to have to leave on your own."

Steve sat up straighter, looking at Tony, starting to piece things together. "You think everybody else is leaving? Why? We- none of us would do that."

Tony set down his smoothie on the bar top “Except half of you already did. This arrangement, the whole tower thing, that was to protect the kids. But the kids aren't here anymore. There's no reason for anyone to stay here." Tony forced his back muscles to relax, trying to control his posture. "It's fine. I knew this would happen, there was no reason it wouldn't. I figured I had maybe, what, a year before Phil left and started the chain reaction. Less than a year. This was always inevitable. It's only a problem because he's working for Justin fucking Hammer, he's deaf and hasn’t had time to _cope_ with that, won't allow for real backup; he wants to _experiment_ on himself with untested nanites, and because he took all the _other_ kids along with him." Tony exhaled deeply, working to keep himself calm. "But the leaving, that was always coming."

Steve resisted the urge to run to the elevator and tell everyone what Tony had just said. It made sense. How had they all missed it? Steve had watched the divorce, seen Tony do this before. Try to build some distance before the break actually occurred. It didn't mean he wanted any of them to go.

"Not unless you make me." Steve said. And he'd meant to say "us", he really had. He turned away, just a bit, hoping Tony hadn't caught that. "I don't think anyone still here wants to leave. I don't even think the kids wanted to leave, really. I-I still hope they’re going to come back." Mentioning the kids, and their absence, sent another icy jab into the center of him, but he tried to keep his focus on Tony. Tony was the one here with him now, the one he might be able to actually do something for, right now.

Tony was staring at him, no, scrutinizing him. He started to say something, but stopped, leaning his back against the couch, staring ahead, just like Steve was trying to. Keeping them from having to look directly at each other, providing a little distance. Steve leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees. Steve wanted to hear him say it, just to be sure. "Tony, is this why you've been- why things changed? Between us? Between you and everybody? You thought we were gonna walk away as soon as the kids were grown?"

"Just, y’know, getting ready." Tony said with a casual tone that might have been convincing to someone who didn’t know him.

"But it's not what you want." Steve supplied.

"For everyone I give a damn about to move out and stop talking to me, just about at the same time I have to quit the team? Oh no, yeah, that sounds great. Been looking forward to it. All top 5 floors of the tower all to myself."

Steve looked at Tony, able to keep his voice steady and confident now "That's not going to happen."

Tony glanced sideways at Steve, looking like he wanted to believe him, but wasn't sure he could. "Why would anyone stay? The family is broken, the team is...well, I guess other than me and, y’know, Bruce, the team is still intact. I guess I do have better facilities than any of you could afford on your own." That seemed to give Tony some perverse comfort.

"Dammit, Tony." Steve said, with no heat to his words "It's not the money. And it's not just the tower, either. This is...can be...has been...a family. You included. Nobody here is going to just...abandon you here alone. Not unless you make us. Just don't make us. I know I'm not the only one who was worried you might."

"So, you won’t ditch me but you thought I'd ditch you?"

Steve glanced back at him. “I hoped you wouldn't."

Tony looked at him for half a second, then flinched and made a face “Jesus. I'm not kicking anyone out. Quit giving me that look. I'd probably lock all of you and all the kids up in here and never let any of you out if I had my way. Except I'm told that's called 'unlawful detainment', and it's apparently 'illegal'."

Steve paused. Had he been giving Tony a look? He realized he was leaning towards Tony a bit, braced on one arm. He'd probably been looking pathetic again. Which he didn't need to do. Because Tony didn't want them gone. Wouldn't make him leave. Wouldn't take himself away. He shifted his weight back to center, and looked away. "Then I'm not going anywhere." Steve said. "And I don't think the others will either."

Tony was trying to look skeptical, but it wasn't working. Hope won out of the cynicism and his expression relaxed, the last of the anger melting away.

Steve pressed forward, on more stable footing "Now, what’s this about you quitting the team?"

The irritation was back in a flash, accompanied by embarrassment he probably figured Steve could read. Knowing people could see he was embarassed never improved his mood. "Tsch. Don't give me that. I'm falling apart and you know it." Tony grumbled. "I can tell when you're noticing it, you know. You get this little wrinkle right between your eyebrows," Tony gestured to his own forehead "and you glare at my knee or my shoulder or whatever body part isn't pulling it’s weight. I know you've noticed it."

Steve was feeling so much calmer. “Yeah. I just didn't think you’d be willing to discuss it." 

"What ‘discuss’? I'm coming apart and I'm probably not going to be fit for fighting much longer." Tony didn't seem to be feeling any calmer. His shoulders had relaxed some, but his restless, nimble hands had managed to locate the Powerade bottle cap and were flipping it through his fingers.

"You're not falling apart. You're just a little older. You’re in great shape for-" he stopped short as Tony shot him a venomous glare.

"For my age. Go ahead and finish it. I'm in great shape for my _age_. I'm pretty spry for an older fellow." Tony stood suddenly, but rather than walk away he just started to pace a bit "Thing is, that isn't actually enough for me to keep up with the rest of you ageless wonders. Great for my age isn't enough to keep up with Captain America, or Thor, or Black Widow. Even Clint is holding up better than me."

For some reason, the first thing to come to Steve’s lips was "I'm not ageless." Tony stopped and gave him a skeptical look that was nearly another glare. "I have a hair. I mean, a grey hair. I found one. Not that long ago." He licked his lips, wondering if that sounded completely stupid. From the look Tony was giving him, it did. "Look, I know that's not a big deal to you, but it was to me. Everybody keeps reminding me that I'm an experiment.  And I don't know how aging is gonna work with me. That grey hair, it means I'm still going. I'm still part of the whole human race. I don't want to stay young till something comes along and kills me. Hell, do you realize how old I am, even without the ice? I wouldn't mind looking my age for once."

Now Tony was just looking at him like he was an idiot. He sat back down on the couch. "Yeah, you say that. Once it actually starts it's different. Once the sagging and wrinkling get going-"

"Tony, you look great. I don't look at you and see someone who’s old. I just see someone who shouldn't be on the front line anymore."

"I do not look great. How- why would you even say that? You met me when I looked great. I was still in my prime at 43, thank you very much. Don't compare me like this to what I used to look like." Tony shifted uncomfortably.

“You’re not that much older than I should be. I look at you and I see a peer. I'm the odd one, not you. And I don't see this supposed sagging. You still have great muscle tone."

Tony gave him a strange, appraising look. Steve wasn't sure what he was looking for, but if it was sincerity, he should find it. And if he hadn’t ever noticed the rest of Steve’s opinion on Tony’s appearance, he probably wouldn’t start now. Once again, Tony started to say something, smirked, and changed his mind, shaking his head.

"Look, Tony, maybe I can't make you feel better about aging, but I can say that I'd like to do whatever aging I'm capable of along with you. I'm not going anywhere unless you make me. But I have lost—.” He took a steadying breath, "lost a lot of people. Maybe one day I'll lose you to. But I don't want that day to come one moment sooner than it has to. Right now, I don't know how I could cope with it." He looked down at the floor. "I've lost a lot of people I loved. No matter how I look you know I’m not young. If you're willing to step out of active combat— that would make me really, really happy. I'll find a way to make it work for the team. Anything that lets me hold onto you longer." That had sounded needier than Steve had meant to sound. But what the hell, it was the truth. He needed Tony.

"Did you just say you love me?" Tony's voice had a smirk in it, and Steve squeezed his eyes shut for a second. Of everything Steve had said, Tony had zeroed on the worst possible thing to decide to tease him about.

Steve leaned forwards, elbows on his knees, head bowed. "Yes." he just said simply, because he didn't know what else to say. His voice sounded thick in his ears. Much too obvious and exposed. Well, maybe it would make Tony feel better. Tony ribbing Steve was a Tony not screaming at him, drinking himself to death, or doing anything to break himself apart, so it couldn’t be too bad.

There was a pause, then he felt Tony’s hand pat him on the back, the motion made awkward by his need to use the arm further from Steve, trying not to jostle the sling. "Ah, Hell. Love you too, big guy." Tony's tone was flippant, but not insincere. Steve waited for the other shoe to drop, but nothing came. He looked up at Tony, and was reminded again that Tony must he hurting as much as Steve was. Maybe needing some comfort as much as Steve was. Needing as much to not feel alone. Tony's eyes met his, and he winced "Ok, but stop looking at me like that. Jesus." Tony pulled his hand back and looked away, rubbing his face. Steve looked back down, embarrassed. "Fuck. I'm so bad at this. You—nobody comes to check on you, do they? You've just been sitting around worrying about the kids, and me, and Pepper and everybody, but I just came up here and ditched you."

"I didn't expect you to check on me."

"That's actually worse." Tony said. Steve smiled ruefully. Tony meant well. He trusted that. He should have trusted that if he needed Tony, he could have asked. He felt stupid now for doubting it. Tony sounded uncomfortable "Ok, look, uhm. Do you-want, like, a hug or something? Cause I'm just now noticing that you look like shit, and it takes a lot to make you look like shit,  and your kid is as out of here as mine...and you, poor bastard, you can't drink either. So."

Steve looked at Tony again, trying not to give him "that look". The lump in his throat was back again. He could have gone to Natasha or Clint or...or even Thor. He'd been feeling so desperately alone and so completely useless. But he'd wanted Tony. It always used to be Tony that kept an eye on him when things got really bad. It didn’t matter as much if he was a mess in front of Tony. Tony never saw him as more than he was. He swallowed, hard, and had to look back down at the floor again when his vision swam. Tony had seen him cry before—a team like this didn't go twenty years without plenty of spilled tears. And Steve had seen Tony cry even recently. But right now he felt like he was handing Tony a guilt trip and that wasn't what he wanted.

Tony sat next to him silently for a second, as they both tried to figure out how to save their battered pride in this situation. Tony shifted. He sounded confused, kind of lost. "Offer stands."

Steve blinked tears back, and returned his gaze to Tony. Tony's substantial eyelashes were just a bit damp, and his jaw was tight, he was looking over Steve’s head, avoiding eye contact. Tony hadn't been offering just for Steve's sake. 

Slowly, Steve reached up, and wrapped his arms carefully around Tony. Tony almost seemed confused for a second, before his good arm wrapped around Steve. Steve was surprised to feel Tony’s fingers digging into his back, holding tight, and Tony's head pressed against the side of his own. He rested his face against Tony's rust-scented hair, and closed his eyes. He'd held Tony before. After one or the other of their nightmares, once or twice a flashback, when the kids were in danger or when there was a near miss. But this was the first time, in 20 years of knowing each other, that it’d been like this. 

This lingered, without being the support you'd give to someone who was sobbing, bleeding out or hyperventilating. He rubbed one hand up the line of Tony’s spine, and buried his fingers in Tony's hair. He felt a tear slip out to land on Tony’s shoulder. Another joined it as Tony shifted, apparently settling in to stay this way for a while. His hand shifted, but again gripped Steve's back as tightly as he was able.

This. This was _good_. This was more of what he'd needed for the past month than he'd gotten in years. Tony was warm and solid and alive. He was pulling Steve in close, trying to minimize the distance between them, even around his arm trapped between them. He wasn't leaving or telling Steve to leave. He was telling Steve to stay with his whole body. Steve wondered how long he could get away with staying this way before making Tony uncomfortable.

But over a minute passed, and Tony showed no signs of moving away. His grip loosened slightly, but then he rubbed Steve’s back in an astonishingly soothing gesture. Steve closed his eyes and drank it in.

Eventually, though, he figured Tony must be getting bored. Tony wasn't one for sitting still. Steve relaxed his grip, and Tony pulled away. Steve was surprised though that Tony did not actually let him go. He left his hand on Steve's shoulder. Steve wasn't about to let Tony go if he didn't have to, and rested one hand on the back of Tony’s neck, on the non-injured side, and one on his hip. Tony looked up at him, and Steve’s heart constricted. Those huge dark eyes with wet long lashes were less than a foot from his face. For once, Tony wasn't putting on any facade. His pain, his worry, and even his affection were all written there plainly. It was just about the most intimate thing Steve had ever seen. He felt himself smiling in sympathy, and he held on just a little tighter.

Something in Tony’s face shifted, some dawning realization. He searched Steve's face, his expression focusing and growing more concerned. He swallowed visibly. Steve looked at him questioningly. What had he done wrong? What had Tony seen that made his expression change like that? But, Tony wasn't letting go. "I love you too,” Tony repeated, apparently to himself, clearly rolling over something in his mind. "I love you too,” he said again, repeating the words for his own thought processes, whatever they were, rather than for Steve’s benefit. "Shit." He let go of Steve suddenly, and the cold where Tony's warm hand had been a moment before stung the back of Steve’s neck. Tony stood up, hand over his mouth, backing up a step.

Steve looked at him helplessly, no idea what he'd done. Unless…he’d finally slipped, been too obvious? Tony turned away from him for a second then turned back to Steve, as Steve’s pulse shot up in panic. Tony glanced at Steve’s face, and winced. "Sorry. Sorry, I just- Ah. I just...figured out something. Really late. Way too late. Dammit." His hand covered his mouth again, and he shut his eyes. "Sorry. Sorry. I—.” He sat down again, with more distance between himself and Steve.

"What?" was all Steve could think to say. He couldn't even formulate a guess at what Tony was thinking. He was apologizing, so it didn’t look like Tony was upset by anything he’d read on Steve. But the comfort he'd felt a moment before was evaporating with the sudden withdrawal. Steve wanted it back with gut wrenching desperation.

"I-" Tony glanced at him again, then looked sharply away "I wish I wasn't so damn old."

Steve was no less baffled. "What? We just— you’re not old. Why should that matter?"

"In my heyday—“ Tony started. "Back when you'd met me, maybe"

"Tony, I have no idea what you’re talking about. Did I do something wrong?"

"No! No. Nothing, I just...I am way too old to-"

An idea was forming in Steve’s mind entirely against his will. "Too old to what? I'm well over a hundred."

Tony gave him a dirty look. "Yeah, but you’re still- y’know. Young. And hot."

Steve's eyes widened. He tried again and failed to not have the thought that was forming in his mind. "Tony, what do you think you’re too old to do, that would make you-" He stopped short. Tony hardly needed an excuse not to want to go on hugging.

"I am entirely too old to go seducing-" and he stopped, staring at the doubtless shocked look on Steve's face. "Shit. No. Take that back. Forget it. That didn't happen and I never said that and I am _severely_ sleep deprived-" Tony was starting to look legitimately panicked now, and Steve shook himself out of his shocked stupor.

"You-" He started.

"No." Tony interjected.

"...Seduce?" His eyebrows raised. Tony stood up again.

"Look Steve, I would never. I would not risk this."

"We could be careful." Steve ventured.

Tony stopped, staring at him "Are you volunteering to be seduced? By me? Because-"

Steve swallowed, tried to clear his head. His mind was reeling. Tony, wanting to seduce him, right after saying- “You said you loved me."

"Yeah." Tony's voice was defensive "So did you." It was an accusation.

"And I do. Tony- do you want that? With me? Because-"

"No!" Tony's voice raised louder, and Steve winced, the idea that had struggled into existence moments before withered. "No. You're my friend and my teammate and my family and so far not planning to leave and I wouldn't- look, don't make this weird, ok? I won’t ever bring it up again. I've been not bringing it up for _decades_ , I can just keep going."

But that really sounded like…and ‘decades’? "What if I said I wanted to?" He asked, looking ahead, trying not to add pressure to the situation. Trying not to look desperate. To do this honorably with no guilt trips. There was another pause. He didn't dare look at Tony. His shoulders were tense as he waited.

"Wanted- to be seduced? By me? Cap-“

"No, not to be seduced. To be with you. I love you. You love me. If we could build that into something...something closer. Well, I'd like that. A lot. " He licked his lips, pressed his eyes shut, praying that he hadn't ruined the closest relationship he had left. His heart was hammering in his chest.

"I'm old." Tony objected again, and Steve couldn't help a small, incredulous laugh.

He looked up at Tony. Of all the absurd- "I'm older."

Tony glared, clearly caught off balance. "You look thirty."

"You look great." Steve said, catching Tony's eyes with his own. After all this time, he had a chance to lay it on the line ”Honestly. To me, at least, you look great. Always have. And I've loved you for a very, very long time. If you want me, that way, then I'm yours. I just-" he looked away for a moment, before looking Tony in the eye again "I can't do a fling. I can be your friend, your family, if that’s what you want, or I could be your..."he almost choked on the word "your lover? I guess? But I can't be anything casual." Tony was staring at him, as shocked at Steve had ever seen him, mouth hanging open. "But we know each other. I think- maybe, if you wanted that, we could make it work."

Tony stared silently at him for a good minute. "I'm not good at this."

"I know. Me neither. There are reasons we’re both still single. But I think we're pretty good at dealing with each other."

Tony sat down next to Steve. He stared ahead, looked at Steve, and looked ahead again. He looked back at Steve. "Really?"

Steve just nodded. The idea of being able to hold Tony like that, without worrying about it being weird, was enough to just about stop his heart.

"Really." Tony repeated. He sat back, letting out a shocked breath. "Oh. I ah. Well. Ok."

"Ok?" Steve echoed. His back straighter. Was Tony really? Was-

Tony looked at him, a crooked smile forming "Ok." he leaned forward, shoulder to shoulder with Steve. "Ok. Lets do it."

"Yeah?" Steve's eyes stung with tears for just a second. The prospect of not being alone anymore- of having Tony, there, with him, with no pretense between them, being able to show Tony how much he loved him-

Tony grinned at him properly now "Yeah. You and me. Lets do it."

Steve couldn't manage to say anything around the grin on his face and the lump in his throat and he was sure he looked completely pathetic but Tony already knew who he was, and Tony still thought he was worth keeping around. Tony’s grin was wide, bright and real and aimed right at Steve. "C'mere" Tony said, turning on the couch to face Steve, one hand coming up to the back of Steve's head. Steve had a split second of shocked realization before Tony leaned in and pulled Steve in to a kiss. 

Steve's heart just about stopped. His mind burst into clarity, focusing and recording every minute detail of the moment. The calluses of Tony’s hand on his neck, the gentle sureness of the pressure of Tony’s lips on his. The faint scratch of beard. The taste of Powerade. He looped his arm back around Tony's waist and pulled him closer, and Tony answered by leaning into him. For the second time that day he felt overwhelmed with the intimacy of Tony's sincerity. Steve opened his lips, deepening the kiss and leaning into it, wanting to feel and memorize everything.

Breathless, Tony eventually pulled away. He looked at Steve, studying his face for a moment, then grinned again, threw back his head for an extremely Tony-like laugh, and lunged.

* * *

Pepper tapped on the sofa arm in her uncomfortably quiet apartment. The place felt unfinished. She hadn’t been able to work up the energy to redecorate the areas that had been destroyed. She didn’t like passing the boys’ bedrooms. She didn’t even like _being_ in this apartment, now. It felt wrong; too empty and echoing.

She'd taken the week off of work, now that Phil wasn't here to complain about her presence. Well, she was off work except inasmuch as she was orchestrating a takedown of Justin Hammer and everything he had ever touched or built. Outside that, however, she found her ability to concentrate inconsistent at best. Only her fury allowed her to focus on that. She didn’t think she’d ever spent so much time staring blankly into space. She’d started leaving the TV on so at least it felt a little like she was watching TV instead of losing her mind.

Today one more thought was circulating through her mind. When Jamie’d called this morning he’d asked about how Tony was doing. She hadn't been able to answer him. She hadn't seen Tony since the kids had left. She'd hardly seen anyone.  Just Natasha, really. She didn't want to see them all hurting, not when there wasn't anything she could do about it. Not when seeing that stirred up everything she was fighting down.

But Jamie'd said Phil hadn't spoken with anyone in the tower yet. She herself hadn't called, waiting until he'd calmed down or she had. She wasn't sure. But that meant Tony also hadn't called. Which might mean no-one had spoken to him since Phil left. Now she'd had the thought, she couldn't shake the mental images of what that might mean was going on upstairs.

She made up her mind. She’d go upstairs and check on the damage.  Maybe she’d be able to help a little. Or at least do damage control.

Moments later she was on the elevator, watching the doors open on the workshop, which looked about like she’d expected- some broken furniture, glasses everywhere…but it was quiet. No obnoxiously loud music, no sounds of machinery. The lights were dimmed.. In theory he could be in his own apartment, but it wasn’t likely...had he left? Had Tony needed a hospital and nobody told her? Jarvis would have told her…

She craned her head a little, stepping off the elevator into the workshop, automatically checking likely spots in the workshop for activity. She froze.

It looked like…

Like Tony had been infected by some sort of zombie virus that made him crave human flesh, and he was attacking Steve’s face. Yes. That was what it looked like. Because that was a better option than the other thing it looked like, with Tony straddling Steve’s lap, with one of Steve’s hands up the back of Tony’s shirt and the other grabbing lower and…

One of them moaned.

She was starting to think that the flesh-eating virus theory wasn’t going to pan out. The words burst out of her. "What the hell?"

Both of them jumped, faces whipping around to face her, Tony wincing as he torqued his shoulder. She felt herself take a step back. Steve’s face registered first- eyes wide with shock, mouth partly open. His hair was a mess and he seemed breathless. Tony, in turning to face her, had at least managed to get off Steve’s lap. Because he had just been on Steve’s lap and _why the hell had he been on Steve’s lap_? One leg was still draped over Steve’s legs, however, as Tony leaned back on his good arm against the arm of the couch. Tony’s startled expression vanished much more quickly, replaced by calmly and sardonically raised eyebrows and the little not-smile he wore when he knew he was in trouble but didn’t want to seem to care.

Steve started "Pepper-" and he was trying to put an apology into his voice through the embarrassment and hormones obviously clouding his judgment.

Her voice was louder "What the hell are- How could you even think about- What is _wrong_ with you two?"

Steve tried again "It’s not-"

She cut in "Are you going to tell me that it’s not what it looks like? Because if one of you is infected with some kind of mutagenic virus thing that makes you crave human flesh I would like to know about it _right now_ because that would frankly be better than what it looks like."

Tony’s voice was calm, verging on bored, which was deliberately infuriating "Looked like we were making out?" She glared at him, her mind still spinning. "Then yeah. Pretty much exactly what it looked like."

She made an inarticulate noise of frustration "You want to tell me then what the hell you two are thinking? After knowing each other for about twenty years you decide to pick _now_ to make out on the couch like a couple of…of teenagers?" Why would they do this? As if everything around here wasn’t bad enough they had to choose now to risk one of the only relationships that kept either of them sane or grounded. Why would they possibly pick now to risk what precious little good was left in their home? In her home? If those two fucked this up and ended up not speaking to each other, the way Tony had been with pretty much every other person he’d ever slept with but her, that would be the final blow. That would be the nail in the coffin of the life she’d loved up to two months ago. They couldn't ever go back again.

Steve looked like he was trying to formulate an answer, but Tony was ahead of him. "To be fair, I doubt we would have stayed making out on the couch like a couple of the teenagers. Your timing is terrible."

Whatever response Steve had been trying to formulate seemed to evaporate. He turned back to Tony, eyes somehow, impossibly, rounder, looking utterly mortified, mouth agape. How could they think this was a good idea? That sort of language was practically prudish coming from Tony. They had to know they were impossibly mismatched. He shook his head, trying to clear it, and tried speaking again. "Pepper, I’m sorry-" he started, and he did sound sorry, which actually made this worse.

"Did you just apologize to her for making out with me?" Tony said, as amused as offended.

That set Steve off all over again, his eyes fixed on Tony with an expression that would have been comically helpless if this weren’t happening to her life. As he turned his head to Tony, something else caught her eye.

Her voice was high "Is that a hickey?" She pointed at the dark, reddened mark on Steve’s neck, looking at Tony in shock as Steve slapped a hand up over his neck. Steve looked at Tony with a similarly shocked expression "Did you give him a hickey? You gave Steve Rogers- _Captain America_ , a hickey."

Tony was unaffected by her incredulity or Steve’s embarrassment. He grinned his best smug grin. "I certainly gave it the old college try. Dunno how long it’ll last." He poked at one of the fingers Steve had clamped down over his own neck, and Steve numbly moved the hand. Tony cocked his head, peering at it. "Super solider serum and all. Probably not long. Still, worth the effort." This time he aimed a cocky grin at Steve.

And damn it, Steve was caught. She knew the look on Steve’s face. He was dazzled and charmed and utterly out of his mind.

They were both out of their damned minds.

They were out of their minds and they were going to ruin everything that was left.

With another wordless noise of shock and anger she turned on her heel back towards the elevator.

She heard a shuffle and Steve’s voice behind her "Pepper, wait, hold on-"

She got back on the elevator, and heard Tony cut him off. "Let her go cool down, Cap. Trust me, this is still not the angriest she’s been with me for sleeping with someone." The hell it wasn’t.

"But we-" Was all she heard of Steve’s reply before the elevator doors closed.

"Jarvis. Home." She said, her voice strained. And the elevator surged downwards.

She could just about kill them both. Now was so 100% not the time for Tony to be risking a relationship with anyone important. This was impulsive and insane and reckless and felt like a betrayal. She leaned against the elevator wall, trying to compose herself. God, what would happen between Jamie and Phil if Tony and Steve broke up? How would she even tell Jamie and Phil?

Maybe it was just…making out. Just impulsive hormones, and there wouldn’t be any relationship. They were both lonely, like she was, maybe they just made a mistake about where to seek contact from.

Who was she kidding. There was no way Steve would get handsy with a team-mate and expect it not to mean anything. Tony, on the other hand, might actually make that kind of mistake, if he was desperate enough. And break Steve’s heart and their friendship in the process. Then Steve really would move out, and even if the kids wanted to come home, their home would be too broken to be the way it was before. Maybe too broken to bother coming back to.

Since when did Steve even have any interest in men? Tony, sure, she knew about that. But Steve?

The elevator door slid open, and she stepped out. She still vaguely hoped this was all a bad dream.

She stepped unsteadily back to her own, empty apartment. She couldn't handle this now. She could call Natasha. Maybe she’d be able to talk some sense into them before anybody got seriously hurt. Then, nobody else would even need to know about this stupid, awful mistake they’d made, and at least they could 0leave open the possibility for things to go back to normal.

* * *

Natasha was scanning video feeds when Pepper’s voice came over the speaker, rough and upset, possibly crying. "Natasha, could I talk to you?"

Crap, what now. She’d barely spoken with Pepper since the kids had left. On the couple of occasions she’d tried it Pepper had been distant, still shut down. Polite but not present. Something had jarred her back into the present, and it sounded like it’d hurt. “Yeah, I’ll be right up." She answered. Pepper never liked having important conversations over the comm.

Was it the kids? But…they were fine. Could Pepper have found out something Natasha hadn’t? Maybe Rhodey or Clair had called.

She hurried upstairs, and gave a cursory knock before letting herself in. Pepper never locked her door. Natasha thought guiltily that she hadn’t been locking hers much either, anymore. When this was over and she was back in the world again, she’d have to watch that.

Pepper was sitting at the kitchen counter, clutching a coffee mug as if it was anchoring her to reality,

Natasha kept her posture calm. Pepper usually seemed to find that soothing. She walked the remaining distance to the counter slowly, casually, as if she hadn’t been running in the hall moments before, and if Pepper didn’t know perfectly well that that’s what she’d been doing. She sat down at one of the other stools. "What’s up? The kids seem fine." She figured bundling some calming news with the request might help.

"No it’s not the kids this time. But thank you though. I do appreciate that."

Not the kids, but pertaining to Pepper directly enough to upset her, and Natasha hadn’t heard about it yet. "Tony?" she assumed.

Pepper nodded. She looked…scared. Last couple of months aside, getting Pepper really frightened was fairly hard to do. She’d been at this long enough. Generally lives had to be threatened. Pepper getting actively upset over something Tony did…boded poorly. Natasha’s eyes narrowed. "What?" She asked. What the hell would Tony dare to try with things this badly out of balance? She’d assumed as long as Phil was alive he'd avoid going completely over the edge. But she’d been wrong a lot, lately.

Pepper blushed. Just a little, around the ears, but plenty enough for Natasha to notice, especially as Pepper glanced away. Pepper, who had been Tony Stark’s personal handler for something like twelve years, and who had slept with him for an additional four, blushed. Natasha tried to come up with what the hell Tony could do to produce that reaction and failed.

Pepper managed to calm her voice. "Tony and Steve, really."

Natasha allowed herself to register surprise, her back straightening, and eyes widening. Tony _and Steve_ making Pepper blush. That was a very different set of criteria. She gave Pepper a questioning look. She didn’t want to assume anything.

Pepper exploded into anxious words. “Ugh! I just can’t believe, with everything that’s going on that they could take this kind of a risk!" And Pepper was on her feet, pacing short, close steps around her stool. "Acting like a couple of teenagers when you know they're  just going to end up heartbroken and unhappy, Steve at least, and then Steve’s going to leave and that’s just going to be the end of…"

Natasha cut her off. "Steve and Tony? Really. You are talking about what I think you’re talking about, aren’t you? You said they were acting like teenagers. Somehow I don’t think you mean they’re eating half their weight in junk food and worrying about who to take to prom."

Pepper nodded, shrugging with her hands spread in front of her. "Right there, on the couch in the workshop. Steve had a _hickey_."

Natasha leaned on the counter, thinking fast. Steve and Tony. After all this time. They finally got their heads out of their asses. She’d given up hope on those two ages ago. They’d seemed to get close so many times before, but it had never amounted to anything.

This was the best news she’d heard since hearing that Phil was still alive. At least, it might be.

She needed more information. This could be as bad as Pepper was clearly thinking it was. It could also be the start of putting things back together again. She looked back at Pepper, and smiled sympathetically. She didn’t have to force it. She was as tired as Pepper was of being jerked around by everything going on, of not knowing what would happen to their family. "I’ll go talk to them, ok?"

Pepper relaxed, and Natasha felt a brief thrill of victory. Pepper was reaching out again. She really took way too much responsibility for those two, Tony especially. Her one major chronic failure in the realm of delegation. Pepper nodded, smiling gratefully, obviously happy to not have to be the one to deal with this. 

Natasha smiled at her, and patted her on the arm. "I’ll go deal with them now. Sit tight, ok?"

"Thank you. I know this shouldn’t be fall on you, I just-"

"Don’t worry about it. I have a stake in this too, ok?"

Pepper nodded again, with the same smile, and Natasha headed upstairs. She needed more information from a less rattled source and she wanted it right now.

She stepped off the elevator as soon as the doors opened, scanning the room for the information she needed. Her eyes locked on to Steve and Tony immediately. Standing too close, but that wasn't unheard of for them. As soon as they registered her, Steve let go of Tony's arm, and backed up half a step, clearly embarrassed. She had clearly interrupted something. Tony, on the other hand, leaned his head back and gave an exasperated glare to the ceiling, rather than aim it at her directly. Good sign for the collarbone. She'd interrupted something Tony hadn't wanted interrupted.

Tony spoke up first. "I'm putting a lock on that door. I swear to god I am"

"Sorry, boys." Natasha responded evenly. "Got a report I needed to check out. Can we talk?"

Steve, bless his heart, was trying not to look like he wanted to melt into an embarrassed puddle on the floor, clinging to his courage. All right, so Pepper’s report was confirmed, now to address the concerns that came along with it.

"Really?" Tony asked, clearly not thrilled, but closer to rolling his eyes than a tantrum. She looked him over- he wasn’t at his best, but he was worlds better than he had been during the divorce binge.

"If you don't mind." She responded, her disinterest in whether or not he minded clear in her voice, and in her sauntering over to the couch without waiting for a response.

"I'm guessing you talked to Pepper?" Steve asked, following her. Steve really didn't blush, but his current expression seemed to warrant one.

"Yep."

Tony lagged behind Steve, who had come over to the couch beside the wrecked coffee table. “Y’know, nobody comes up here, nobody wants to talk to me for days, and suddenly I can't get two minutes." he groused.

"You knew where I was if you wanted to talk to me." She said, and she mostly meant it. Everyone wanted to make sure Tony was ok, herself included. But she didn’t want to put Tony in any position where he might impulsively make decisions about the others in the tower and their continued residency. Nothing would make that more likely than Tony being in pain and drinking, so it had seemed prudent to stay away for a few days.

"Uh-huh." Tony answered vaguely. He pulled up a stool on the opposite side of the coffee table mess and faced both Steve and Natasha. She noticed that he didn't sit next to Steve, but that might just be Tony acting a little jumpy after Pepper’s reaction, or not wanting to embarrass Steve. Unless, of course, it was Tony trying to distance himself from something he already realized was a mistake.

Steve was uncomfortable, he scratched the back of his neck, visibly unsettled. Regret or plain embarrassment? "Problem, Nat?"

Tony cut in before she could answer "Because if so, you can keep it to yourself."

Which could have been either a declaration of certainty or a remark that intervention wasn't necessary because the event was over. She glanced at Steve, who looked not-so-quietly pleased. So Steve, at least, assumed it was the former. Interesting. She tilted her head, just a little, and there was, in fact, a faint yellow-green mark on Steve's neck, just under the jaw by the ear. Good placement. Steve calculated the angle of her eyes and gave her a disapproving glance.

"Just checking in. The information I got was...a little jumbled. But if there's a major shift in the relationships around here, I always like to know about it, at least in general terms. So, what kind of shift are we looking at here?"

They both looked torn. Had they not discussed this? Were they really that stupid? She really thought better of them than that. But they exchanged a communicative glance, and she re-evaluated. They were trying to make up their minds what to say to her, but it looked like they had it sorted between themselves at least. She waited. They exchanged a few more silent messages, ending with Tony smirking smugly and gesturing invitingly at her.

Steve shifted a little uncomfortably, but he looked her in the eye and his voice was steady. "We're dating." He said, simply.

Son of a bitch. They'd actually done it. Amazing. She glanced at Tony, whose smugness was now practically rolling off him in waves. He shrugged with a grin. Possibly concerned about her reaction, but too pleased to let it spoil his mood.

They were invested in this. They had actually taken some kind of time at least to discuss it. They were giving it a genuine go to repair things.

This cast everything in a different light. She tried to think how to respond to this. How to make sure. She tried to come up with some way to do this with subtlety; with the tact and interpersonal grace she was known for.

She decided that subtely wasn't necessary here. She looked at Tony, who was regarding her slightly too long silence with mild suspiciousness. "So then, not getting sick of everybody hanging around? Or just Steve?"

Tony looked momentarily confused. Then he looked at her, critically. "Why does everyone keep asking me that? Why- where did any of you get the impression that I would ever _not_ throw a world-shaking tantrum if any of you tried to leave? Look at my workshop. Does this look like I accept losses well?"

Just like that.

She got up and took a few paces over to Tony's stool, and stooped over him. He leaned back slightly, suspiciousness mingling with the smugness still clinging to him. She took his face firmly in both hands and planted a thankful, appreciative, and completely not-lascivious kiss on his mouth. She looked at him again, not letting his face go. He was clearly amused, and still a bit confused. He grinned, and gave a quick incredulous laugh. She let go of his face and he pointed behind her, amusement in his voice "Hey now, that's his." She patted him on the head.

It wasn't all falling apart. Not all of it. There was movement in the right direction. Maybe what was left could be built into something strong enough to pull back the members they had lost. She turned behind her to Steve, who, as she suspected, looked more bemused than jealous. She addressed him. "Good job, Rogers. Keep a close eye on him."

He laughed, unsure what was going on but satisfied. "Do my best."

"Well, boys. As much as I'd love to leave you to it, Tony, you need to go talk to Pepper. She thinks you two are just screwing around. You should go tell her otherwise, before she loses her mind worrying about you two breaking each others’ hearts." Tony groaned. Which, yes, she could understand. But he didn't argue. "And, while you’re at it, you should start thinking about how you're going to tell the kids. Quickly. Because if you dawdle, I'm doing it. Possibly with diagrams to punish you for delaying."

"You hurrying for a reason?" Steve asked.

Was there a reason? She considered it, and concluded that it was, very simply, because she was happy. "I already waited fourteen years for you two to get it together. Besides, you shouldn't keep important information from your team. Or family. You'll have plenty of time for honeymooning later. Go get some things done first, so people stop knocking on your door every fifteen minutes." She grinned. "I'll give you 48 hours for the kids, or I'm telling Alma."

Tony sighed heavily. He seemed to genuinely be dreading telling the kids. Well, he was probably worried about another fight with Phil. Too bad. This was part of a bigger system now, and she felt pretty damn confident that these changes comprised a significant improvement in relations in the tower. Plus, it would make Tony actually talk to his son. “Also, I call dibbs on telling Thor." She smiled sweetly as they both gave her a questioning look. She left it at that, and fairly bounced back onto the elevator. There was a spring in her step, and she tried to remember the last time she'd felt it.

It occurred to her that it was strange to feel so...what...god, almost elated, about other people hooking up. There was nothing strange about being simply happy for friends finding happiness in each other, but this was another order of magnitude. This was hope on a large scale. She was almost angry with herself over it. Over allowing them this level of influence over her happiness. But she gave that up. She'd been letting them make her miserable for ages. When it turned around and they were showing their investment in making things work, when they affirmed her trust with their own efforts, she may as well enjoy it. She made her way down to Thor’s apartment. 

* * *

Tony took a deep breath as the elevator doors opened. He hovered in the doorway, not sure what kind of reception to expect beyond "not good".

Pepper looked up from the sofa at him, eyes red rimmed. She looked so tired. But she didn't tell him to leave or throw a shoe at him, so he walked in, hands in his pockets and _ow_ ok the clavicle was not happy right now.

“’Tasha said I needed to talk to you. Or that you wanted to talk to me. Something like that. Anyways, I’m here to talk."

He agreed, silently, not to hear the faint sniffle that seemed to come from her direction just before she spoke "I don't know what to say, Tony. I think you understand my reasons for being upset perfectly well. I’m also realizing that that matters not at all, and that you are going to do exactly what you want to, regardless of consequences."

He kept himself from scowling. He'd done a lot of shitty things lately, and he knew it, but this was wholly different. He reminded himself that Pepper’s heart was in the right place and that she'd put up with and forgiven a lot of his bullshit lately, and for several other decades. ‘Tasha said that Pepper was worried for Steve and Tony’s wellbeing. He'd give her the benefit of the doubt and assume that was true. She was owed that. He sat on the couch. "Not regardless of consequences. I am very interested in consequences. I am focused on consequences."

"Well, clearly not." She stated flatly. She really was rattled. Bizarrely rattled. Maybe Tony had been wrong when he'd said Pepper had been more upset about other people he'd slept with. "Ok. You don't approve. I got that. Mind telling me why? Because ‘Tasha is thrilled so I'm kind of confused about the reception I'm getting here." Tony wasn't honestly sure why either Pepper or Natasha should have any particularly strong reaction to what he and Steve got up to. Ok, he had some idea’s but really, him spending more time with someone as level headed as Steve was bound to be good for everybody.

Pepper’s voice was more anxious than angry "Because, Tony, this is a bad idea. If you break up with Steve, or break his heart then...that will be the end of it. Of a lot of things. Or, if he breaks up with you...Tony, you do not handle rejection well. Either way, I think this is just way too risky." She concluded with something like her business voice, trying to retreat behind executive politeness out of nerves.

Do not point out that it was Pepper who had just messed around with Steve. No. Don't do that. Don't point out that she was the one playing around who had broken Steve's heart. This was a reconciliation type conversation. Not a picking-a-fight type conversation. "Breaking up? Why are we talking about breaking up? We- look, it's been like, 40 minutes or something. I know I can move fast, but that's a bit much."

"Well, I don't think this will work." She said, coming gracefully to her feet.

And that stung. Because up till now, Pepper was the best relationship he'd had, even if it had ended in disaster. Well, not disaster. She was still his friend and CEO and neighbor and Phil’s mom. And oh _fuck_ , just the thought of Phil still stung. Damn. But she didn't think he had any chance of making it work with Steve? She’d said she’d left him over the superheroing thing, not his relational ineptitude. Had he been believing a lie this while time? "Can I ask why not?"

She hesitated. "For...a number of reasons."

Oh for craps sake. "Such as?"

She gave him the _I didn't want to do this but you forced my hand_ look, and started counting off on her fingers. "Such as, he is fifteen years younger than you." She held up a finger, and Tony bit back the automatic response she was clearly expecting anyways. She held up another finger "you two have been fighting constantly for the past two years,” A third finger, "you are far too vain to put up with your different rates of aging.” A fourth finger, "You are not sexually compatible-.” Tony tried to interject. That was unfair, even if she did have some...insider track knowledge on the subject. But she cut him off with her sternest glare, adding her thumb as the fifth strike against him, "and, on top of it, I don't think you can tolerate dating a superhero."

Ok, so she had some specific concerns. Fine. Problem solving mode. "Ok, firstly? Me and Steve fighting is fine. He can handle it. I can handle it. Having some...tension resolved might actually make things better." She just looked at him, clearly unconvinced. As if she didn't remember his fondness for makeup sex. "Honestly! and y’know, hey, the vanity thing isn't so bad when I know he looks like that and still puts me at the top of his list. Having Steve Rogers want you is good for anybody's ego. And, since when have I constrained myself to people my own age? You were an anomaly. And you can't get better arm candy than Captain America. Even if you're me."

"Tony, don't call your best friend arm candy. This is what I'm talking about. Have you thought about this? At all? If this keeps up, you are going to end up in bed with him."

Tony raised his eyebrows. "Well, I'm sure thinking about it now. Is that supposed to deter me? Because, if so-”

She cut him off, "Don't. Don't go there. Think about this. Steve looks about thirty."

"I'd say thirty five. It's hard to tell, since so few people are in that kind of shape, but-”

"That's what I'm talking about. He looks thirty. And you, Tony. You don't. And you’re going to look less close to thirty every year. He's not. Have you thought about actually being naked in front of him? Because he might not have noticed that you don't wear tank tops anymore, but I have. You look great for your age, you do. But you and I are just going to keep getting older."

That was like a splash of cold water. He honestly hadn't considered how he would feel having sex with Steve. Well, no, that was a bald-faced lie. He'd thought about it hundreds , hell, thousands of times over the years. Possibly millions.  But he'd never considered it from a standpoint of being realistic about it. He just liked to fantasize, and Steve gave him plenty to fantasize about.

Would he actually be embarrassed? He did not have a lot of experience with being embarrassed in bed. Not for a very, very very long time. He knew what he was doing and he knew he was damn good at it.

But Steve was damn near perfect. Flawless, physically speaking. Would that be enough to actually intimidate him, now?

Pepper continued "Which brings me right back around to my point about you two not being...compatible. Sexually."

Tony rallied, "I feel compelled to point out that your experience with him was sixteen years ago, and your experience with me was even longer ago. Your information is outdated."

She looked unimpressed. "I know you, Tony. And I know what you like. Anyone who had a YouTube account in 2011 knows what you like. And Steve doesn't seem to me like the type to get too...creative in that area. And you’re going to want something that he's not going to want to do-"

He cut her off again, actually offended this time, "I'm not going to try and make Steve-"

"No, I know you won't. But then are you going to be happy? Really? You get...well, you get bored easily. You can't afford to wander away from this if you get bored."

Still offended. He wasn't like that. Well, ok, he had been, in the past. But not with Steve. Not with someone important. This, as much as the superheroing, had fucked up his relationship with her. Pepper had never really believed he valued love over novelty in the long run. It pissed him off then, and it pissed him off now. He’d never strayed when he was with her.  Never even come close. Hadn’t even flirted except in a reflexive sort of way. He hoped Steve would be a bit more trusting.

No, back to problem solving. Concern that Tony would be sexually unsatisfied with Steve. Even Tony recognized this as a strange conversation to have with his ex wife. Pepper, despite her mild mannered appearance, had actually had no trouble keeping up with him, so he'd never actually tried to have an important relationship with someone non-kinky.

Then again, how unkinky could a relationship with a man who could pin you with a couple fingers be? Steve would hardly need ropes or handcuffs to effectively restrain Tony...

Which was an interesting thought. Intimidating, embarrassing, but certainly not wholly without appeal...

He shook his head to clear it. Boundaries. Right. Might be useful here. "That." he looked at her, "Is for me and Steve to work out. That is one part of all this that is genuinely not something you need to concern yourself with."

"Well, I'm going to." she replied. Almost in a snit.

He smirked, then let that soften into a less smug smile. Her concern actually was sweet. "Look, I need you to tell me this is ok."

"Well, I can't." She answered. She almost sounded regretful about it. He could work with that.

"Would it help if I said we, Steve and I, actually talked about this beforehand? About this being a…y’know…actual relationship? This wasn't just some hormonal thing. Not a fling."

"What sort of thing is it, then?"

Tony felt heat in his face that he would be really pissed off about if it turned out to be blushing. Hopefully it was just the warmth of...good feelings. Or something. He shrugged, again, and he really had to stop doing that, it did hurt. "He loves me. I love him. We're good at coping with each other. Lots of practice."

"And when you get older and he doesn't?"

"He actually is aging. Just...slow." He smiled wanly. "He told me he found a grey hair. He was almost proud of it." She gave him a weary, mutedly disgusted look and he laughed. "I know. I know. To be so young and naive again." He ran a hand through his own silvered, but still very thick, thank you very much, hair. "Look, we can't stop that. Not being with him won't make me any younger or him any older. But we're- at least you, me and Clint, maybe even the kids too, I don't know. We're all going to age and leave him, sooner or later. I'll be happy if he lives long enough to lose us. There's no point in making him be more alone than he has to be, any sooner than he has to be. And...it's not like if we don't he seems real likely to go find someone else. If he did, it would just be the same problem. At least I love him.” Yep, playing the sympathy-for-Steve card.

She turned half away from him, looking down. Guilty or regretful or just sad, Tony wasn't sure. He stood up and crossed to her. He took a risk and hugged her from behind, leaning against her back slightly. He crossed his hands in front of her, which also hurt. Well, no regrets. He almost expected her to push away or to pull away, but she didn't. He spoke quietly in her ear, ready to lay it all on the table. "Pepper, I need you to say this is ok."

"You do not." She said, sounding tired.

He leaned his head on her shoulder. He needed her to understand this. "I really do. You’re too deep in all of this to not get a say. And Steve wouldn't even be able to go through with it if we made a 'dame' cry. Say it's ok. We'll make it ok."

"Tony-" she sighed, almost pleading him to leave her alone. He felt a pang of guilt. Maybe this was too much to ask for. But, no, damn it. She hadn't said anything he didn't think they could get around. He wanted a chance to make this work. He just...couldn't do it at her expense.

"Do you know you sound jealous?" he asked, his tone airier.

"I am not jealous." she retorted immediately, clearly put off.

"I know. I know you’re not." he agreed in the same breezy tone. "I said you _sound_ jealous." He let his bad hand return to his side, and steered her to face him with his good arm "I'm hanging up the suit." he said, abruptly.

"I- what?" she said, trying to follow his conversational leap.

"The Iron Man suit. I'm putting it away. I promised Steve this morning. He- well, no it was my idea, really. I'm stepping out of active combat."

She was still confused, looked a little overwhelmed. "I don't..."

"That's what you wanted. What you always asked me for."

"You're quitting the team? The Avengers? That's not what I-"

"I'm not quitting" he reassured her, warmed that she took the job of the Avengers seriously enough to be worried about him quitting. "But I'm stepping out of active combat. Focus on surveillance, tech, that kind of thing. Maybe I'll make a robot or something-" he cut off at her glare. Pepper had good reason to distrust robots. "-or not. Probably...not."

"Why are you telling me this now?"

"Because, Pepper...this is what you asked me to do. Told me to do. This is why you broke up with me. And I'm finally doing it. Now you tell me, if, right now, I got down on my knees and begged you to take me back, would you?" This was a gambit he was glad Steve wasn't here to witness.

She stopped cold, searching his face, struck. There were tears in her eyes, but he kept his eyes on her steady. It took her longer than he thought it would. Her voice was very quiet, and held a slight tremble and a definite note of apology. "No."

He smiled, tightly. He'd known that was going to hurt to hear, but, just as he'd expected, it was the simple ache of rejection, not the sharp pain of being turned down by someone you were in love with. "I know." he nodded. He didn't let go of her arm, and she didn't try to move. "And that's fine. That’s ok. That’s not what we are anymore." And, because saying it out loud seemed to be working well for him so far today, and because he did still love her, if in a way that the English language was ill-equipped to describe "But I still love you. And I'm pretty sure you love me. Even if it's not...that way. So stop sounding jealous. I promise you, I swear on...I don't know...Jarvis or something...I am going to do my damndest to make this work. Because apparently this really matters to everyone? And because it matters to me, and to Steve, and not least of all, you." He leaned forward, his head on her shoulder. He felt her hand come up to the back of his head. "So say it's ok. Nothing around here works without your blessing anyways, and I need your help."

"You're going to date a superhero without being one?"

He let out a long breath, but didn't move. "Yep."

"You do need my help." She said.

"I know." he agreed, trying to keep it simple.

“Y’know, you have a lot of nerve asking your ex wife to bless your dating one of her other exes. This whole thing borders on incestuous." But her voice was starting to warm. He risked wrapping his arm around her back, and her hand slid down, carefully, around his shoulders in a gentle hug.

"I have a lot of nerve in general. You may have noticed, I'm an ass. For some reason you people stick around anyways."

She didn't say anything to that, but he felt her smile against his shoulder. He realized she was probably as alone as he and Steve had been. How many of the tower’s residents had holed up in their little corners, miserably wishing for some company, someone to sympathize with now the kids were gone? Someone to huddle by in the wake of what had happened?

Well, fuck that. That was ending right now. He hugged her a little tighter, trying to convey his support, and she reciprocated. He couldn't stand to fight with her. Now was not the time. "Are you staying? Without the kids in the tower? I want you to. Pretty sure everyone wants you to. But I guess everyone thought I wanted them to leave. If you thought that, don't. I don't want anyone to leave. And we all need you."

He felt a little 'hic' which he again pretended not to notice, and she pressed her face against his neck, hugging tightly. He was spot on today. Everyone really thought he wanted them to leave. If Steve, Pepper and Natasha had all thought it, he must have been making it pretty damn clear. Fuck. “It actually is my tower too, you know." she said, her muffled voice trying to sound flippant and failing. He smiled.

"Just say you’re staying. Even now the kids are gone." She nodded, mutely, and he thought he might feel water on his neck.

"And say it's ok. Me and Steve, I mean. I don't care if it means I'm being an ass. I am comfortable with that. I am not comfortable with you not being ok with this."

She sighed and pulled away to look him in the eye. "You swear to me that you aren't just messing around? That you two are going to take care of each other? And you know what you're doing?"

"Yes to the first two and...as much as I ever do to the third. But I will try, really hard, to actually listen to other people for once and think things through and all that crap. But I will take care of him. And yeah, I'm serious about this."

She gave a long, steadying exhale, studying him. But he smiled, knowing what would come next. "Then yeah. It's ok. Or...we'll make it ok. Somehow. I don't know. It's ok."

He hugged her again. "You,” he kissed the top of her head, “are the best." A thought occurred to him, “let's have dinner tonight.” She looked at him skeptically. "No, really. Everybody. Everyone here. I'll order Thai. Break in the new construction. It'll get everyone out of their own sulking, and you can all get your mocking out of the way at once then. You up for hosting? If not, I can. Although that will be a floor picnic which my knees would not prefer.”

"I- what? Oh.” She blinked, then re-calibrated as she recognized Tony's attempt to do something thoughtful and smiled. "Sure. Yeah. I think it would be nice for everybody to see each other." He smiled, patted her shoulder.

"We can figure out what the hell to tell the kids _later_. Ok?" He added.

She grimaced a little. "Yeah, all right. Oh my god that’s going to…" She exhaled deeply, wheels turning in her head.

" _Later,_ ” he reminded.

She shook her head. "Yeah. Right. Later." She smiled again. 

 

   
  
---  
  
**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my lovely wife printed_soot for copyediting on this chapter.
> 
> As ever, I am on Tumblr at Constant_Instigator with an open askbox.


	15. Chapter 15

Over the past month, Phil had gotten pretty good at working without thinking too hard about what it was he was working on. Most of the time the  _what_  didn’t matter as much as the work. It was the work that held him together.

Well, work and coffee. He was pretty ok at falling asleep now, but he couldn’t seem to hold it for long. He would've thought that not hearing would limit the number of interruptions he’d have in a night, but too often, he woke up out of a sound sleep, feeling a wash of guilt or fear or shame or anger seemingly out of nowhere, which made him try and find the source... which led to a flood of  _reasons_ to feel scared, guilty, ashamed, or angry, and pushed him back up out of bed, down to the workshop. He’d work for an hour or two, then try sleep again. 

The resulting sleep schedule wasn’t really efficient, but it was better than nothing. Better than the total lack of access he’d had back home, anyways. He bent again over the circuits in front of him. This mini-project was easy, a warmup to keep his overtired brain occupied and away from dangerous subjects. Like how his family might be doing. Like how they hadn’t called.

There was a tentative, polite tap on his shoulder. Damn. He turned around. Jamie was there, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, holding out Phil’s glasses to him. They hadn’t talked much since the fight on move-in day. Jamie seemed determined to pretend it hadn’t happened. Which suited Phil just fine, but didn’t effectively erase Phil’s feeling that he was screwing everyone over when he’d been trying to help.

Phil gave the ugly prosthetic a glare, but accepted them and put them on.

**JAMIE: We’re going grocery shopping. You should come too.**

The hell? "Grocery shopping? Why? Just use a service, geeze."

Jamie shook his head.  **JAMIE: Our old service doesn’t deliver here. We should check out the stores before we pick one. Besides, we need groceries now. Signe and Alma using the same fridge means we go through food fast.**

Fussy. God. "Ok, so what, you need my credit card?" Where was that, anyways? Probably somewhere in his room…

Jamie shook his head yet again.  **JAMIE: I can’t use that. Besides, if you don’t come, you’ll be stuck with whatever we buy. And I have no idea what coffee to get.**

A coffee drought was not acceptable. But he didn’t relish the idea of going to a store, in public. He swallowed. "Just get whatever. As long as it’s not decaf."

Jamie paused, annoyed, but not the way he had been last time Phil had rebuffed family togetherness time. Phil could actually see him shifting gears before he tried again.  **JAMIE: The girl from downstairs said she works there. We might run into her.**

The what? When had Jamie met neighbors? God, of course Jamie had met the neighbors. He’d probably brought them a bundt cake or something. But what girl? Old enough to have a job, too.

**JAMIE: She’s cute. I think she said she was 19? She’s living at home during college.**

Cute college girl? Living next door? Ok, this was an unexpected temptation.

Jamie was watching him, trying to hide how smug he was feeling. Yeah, ok, that was the right bait.  **JAMIE: You like brunettes, right?**

God damn it.

He was speaking before he noticed he was doing so. "Yeah, ok. The one down the street Hammer pointed out, right?" It wasn’t far. He’d be back in practically no time. It wasn’t like he was actually  _working_ working.

Minutes later, they had their coats and shoes on, and it wasn’t till they were half a block from home and Phil was casually half-reading what the others were talking amongst themselves about that he realized he was dressed completely ratty and still wearing the goddamn hideous glasses. He couldn’t meet a girl like this! He looked…he looked like Justin Hammer with these big stupid glasses, but with holes in his pants. And a disability. Fucking hell.

He almost turned around and went home. He could drink trucker energy shots if he had to. He didn’t need coffee. But if he did turn around, all three of them would want to know why, and he didn’t want to have that discussion out in the open, especially with his suspected lack of volume control. 

And the outside air did feel pretty good, actually. Just a bit of spring in the air. This air was fresher than the air inside. He let his mind wander to air purification systems that could replicate the effect, until he found himself entering the store itself.

Text exploded across the screen. The walk here had been mostly deserted, and he hadn’t turned off the at-home setting. He pulled them off fast, too fast to look casual, and the others stopped to look at him, checking to see if he was ok.

Again, he almost turned around and bolted back to the condo. But what if the others did decide to leave him? He’d need to be able to buy food, right? Or if not food, then he’d need to buy something on his own, eventually. Basic independence, right?

Right. Ok. Calm down. He’d prepared for this. He smoothed out the tension in his shoulders and moved out of the way of the doors, looking down his glasses and trying to appear casual. Glasses on someone his age were rare these days -- most people just got correction surgery, but it wasn’t unheard of. He could just be cleaning them off. He switched the glasses to the "only people I know" setting, and put them back on, trying to look unaffected. They shifted their attention off him.

**SIGNE: What first?**

**JAMIE: Uhm. Well, there’s the produce, so I guess we’ll start with that?**

**ALMA: Huh. They have an "Ethnic Foods" section.**

Yeah. This was working just fine.  He was adapting. Getting better at this. There hadn’t been any reason to worry about going to the store. He could do this. 

He had to quit second-guessing himself. He was a coward and a traitor and a horrible son, possibly a horrible brother, but he was still a genius. He could figure this out. Get his feet under him. Prove himself and fix himself and figure out how to get by. How to fit in.

He followed them around, not adding much. He managed to grab the coffee he wanted. Jamie was picking out foods Phil liked without him having to say anything. He made a few jabs at Signe’s hyper-processed food choices and backed Jamie up in encouraging Alma to pick out some things she liked, promising not to bitch when those things came up at meals. He hovered around aimlessly as Alma perused the "ethnic" food section, apparently annoyed that she didn’t recognize most of the foods involved. This felt comfortingly normal. Which was kind of odd, since Phil had very seldom actually gone to grocery stores before, but... being with the others, it felt ok.

Jamie nudged him in the arm surreptitiously. Phil looked down at him quizzically. Jamie wasn’t looking at him, he was carefully looking at some canned vegetables in front of him.

**JAMIE: That’s her.**

Phil looked at the vegetables. None of them looked particularly "her" like.

_Oh_ , the  _neighbor girl_. He glanced offhandedly to his left, but that woman must've been, like, ninety. He tried his right. 

Oh wow. She was restocking a shelf, wearing a very unflattering store t-shirt and jeans that didn’t negate a fantastic figure. Long, dark hair, burgundy lipstick and some curves that made it hard for Phil to go back to looking at vegetables. He tore his eyes away anyways. He caught Signe smirking at him out of the corner of his eye and glared halfheartedly. At least Sig was looking like a girl today. He had no desire to compete for any girl's attention against Signe’s tall-dark-and-handsome routine. Especially since Signe had no personal interest in anyone smaller than 6 foot 4, so it was a waste of attention anyways.

Jamie was looking at him with a much more helpful air.  **JAMIE: Want me to introduce you? She said I could. It sounded like she wanted to meet you. I don’t think she’s noticed us yet,**   **though.**

Ohshitohshitohshit. He did want to meet her. He totally wanted to meet her. And buy her dinner. Or a car. Was that too much? Maybe. Or jewelry. A kitten? Girls liked kittens, right?

No. Fuck. Calm down. He didn’t even know her name yet.

And he still looked like a version of Justin Hammer who’d been living under a bridge for several months. Damn explosion-damaged clothes. 

He shook his head, thoughts going a mile a minute, none of them particularly organized.

Jamie took his head shake for refusal and looked disappointed **. JAMIE: You’re sure?**

Wait, no, he had not meant to indicate that. But maybe he should? Had he brushed his teeth this morning? What if he smelled?

He noticed too late that Jamie was now facing the opposite direction, looking behind Phil, hands in his pockets and a pleasant smile on his face. Signe behind him was also facing that way, grinning enthusiastically. Crap. He turned slowly and... yep. There she was. Wow. She was even more gorgeous up close. Her lips were moving. She was smiling up at Phil. How long had she been talking to him? Why hadn’t…Because he had the only-people-I-know setting on. Like a moron.

**SIGNE: Of course.**

Well, that was helpful. Loads of context there. Shit.

Did she even know he was deaf? Would one of the others have mentioned that? Did she know why he was wearing these hideous glasses? Did she notice the display on them? Her smile was faltering. She looked confused. Phil hadn’t mentioned to any of the others about his new settings on the glasses, so now they were looking at him in confusion, too.

So now he looked either like an ass who was deliberately ignoring her, or like a dweeb too overcome by talking to a girl to actually speak. And that was on TOP of looking like Justin Hammer who’d been living under a bridge for several months and maybe smelling like that too, oh fuck.

Ok. No. Refocus. Control your brain. Just change the settings and ask her to repeat herself. Easy. Maybe he could pull off 'eccentric,' or 'vintage grunge.' He pulled off the glasses and flicked through a few settings. He should redesign the menu to make this faster. He got the "public" setting and flipped the glasses back on with what he hoped was a charming smile.

Only to have text flare across his vision again, speeding past. He flinched, snapping them back off. Shit. It was on public! It shouldn’t be doing this! Stupid glitchy things. What kind of garbage had Tony given him? He looked down at the glasses again, catching the text as it sped by. They were playing ambient music, and making announcements on top of that over the speakers, and that old lady was talking to…herself, it looked like, and now Al was chattering about something or other, and someone he couldn’t see was having a conversation somewhere else... It wasn’t as bad as the restaurant had been on private setting, but it was still more than he could track, especially since his glasses didn’t know this girl's name.

Damn it! He was here, independent, out of the tower, with a really knockout girl right in front of him trying to talk to him, and he literally could not have a conversation with her. He looked back up at her again, feeling helpless, humiliated, trying not to show it, but his face was burning. She wasn’t smiling at all now, just confused and almost…hurt? Well, because she’d probably just introduced herself and Phil hadn’t said a word to her.

He looked at the others for help. But none of them knew what was going on. As far as they knew, he’d just choked. But Alma was watching the glasses now. She seemed to put it together. She started talking, looking first at Phil and then at the neighbor girl, then glancing nervously back at Phil again. She looked apologetic. Signe looked guilty and Jamie just looked embarrassed. He couldn’t begin to guess what his expression looked like at that moment. Neighbor girl turned beet red and put her hands up, backpedaling desperately. She darted a glance at Phil and the pity rang out loud and clear. They totally hadn’t told her he was deaf.

Well, no wonder she’d come over to talk to him, then.

Fuck it. This was pointless.

He shoved his hands in his pockets and pushed his way past Jamie and Signe, both of whom stepped out of his way. He didn’t run out of the store; he didn’t want the attention. But he had long legs, and he was stretching them out as fast as he could to get the hell out of here.

He shoved the glasses in his pocket, not looking back. He hoped the others would take the hint and not follow him. Let them finish shopping with the hot girl. He kept his fast walk down the street, across the lobby. Had trouble not pacing the elevator.

He slammed the front door behind him when he got to his unit, and let go. His vision blurred with tears. He’d been doing so well avoiding that. But at least he was alone. There was nobody to witness it this time. It wasn’t the utterly-out-of-control screaming breakdown he’d had in the hospital, but it was definitely more than the stray sniffle or two that got away from him at night. He covered his face with his hands, grateful of these small privacies. He sat with his back against the door. If someone came in, he’d at least have some warning.

Fuck. This wasn’t working. No matter how much money he made or how much ahead of his peer group he got, he was just going to keep getting pity. Pity, and people backing away from him when they noticed his defect. No matter how well he adapted, he’d always be disabled, broken, with the proof of his malfunction and his inability to fix himself right there on his face.

He couldn’t do this. Why couldn’t he do this? Dad had fixed his own bodily dysfunction in a cave with scraps of weaponry. He’d come back stronger than ever. A hero. Phil had access to any technology he wanted, financial backing, good work conditions, and all he’d managed so far was a seizure and an even more broken family. He felt a proper sob escape him this time, and curled forward. His grandfather had built SHIELD and Captain America, his dad had built Iron Man, and Phil couldn’t even manage to  _talk to a girl at a grocery store_. How could he ever hope to match the rest of them when he was failing at these kind of completely basic everyday tasks? They were geniuses, heroes,  _gods,_  and Phil couldn’t even fake responsible adulthood for four days.

He should be coping better than this. Adapting better. Thriving under pressure. Fixing himself. But he wasn’t. He was falling apart. And every time he thought it was going to get better, he found some new way he was fucking up.

God, he missed mom. And dad. And Steve. All the adults. Bruce. He didn’t want to do this anymore. Why had he thought he could do this?

He needed to calm down. Think clearly. Get his mind back to a place where he could bury himself in what he was good at. Right now, he was too rattled even to do that. Dad was good at that -- he could work under any conditions. But, then, he was working on AI by Phil's age. And had made his first circuit board years younger than Phil had.

Ok, so how did dad focus his mind? What did he do to calm down when he was freaking out? Phil squeezed his eyes shut and tried to focus.

Well, there was booze. But Phil didn’t have any in the house, and he sure as hell wasn’t going back out there to get some.

What else? Loud, obnoxious, screaming rock music. Phil remembered the strange soothing effect the vibrations in the workshop had had on him a couple of weeks ago. Good start. His insomnia-addled brain spoke without thinking. "Jarvis, cue up some of dad’s shitty music. Really loud."

A split second later, he felt like even more of an idiot. 

There was no Jarvis here. He wasn’t at home.

It was a stupid thing -- just a matter of convenience, really. But it set him off again. He’d done that several times. So had Jamie, which was a little consolation at least. But it hurt, all the hundred ways this wasn’t his home. He covered his face with his hand again, another sob-like sensation coming from deep in his chest.

No, deep breath. No being a homesick little baby about it. He forced his breathing to slow, took his hands off his face, leaning back against the front door. He stared up at the ceiling, trying to blank his mind out for just a second. Just enough to clear his head. Ok, obnoxiously loud music. He could still do that.

He pushed himself to his feet, and headed back towards the workshop. Yeah, he’d prepared for this. The project he’d been not-thinking-about that morning.

A massive, bass-heavy sound system embedded right in the workshop walls.

Less than 10 minutes, and he had it basically ready to go. He rushed back through the living room, which was thankfully still empty. His suitcase was still sitting open in his white, nondescript bedroom. He started digging through it. His hand landed on something pointy and plastic, and he seized it, pulling it into view.

It was his old Iron Man action figure. Not what he was looking for, but…

He gripped it hard enough to hurt. Phil hadn’t downloaded any pictures to take with him, and he didn’t have access to his cloud account from here, since he was cut off. He didn’t have any pictures with him at all. But this…stupid, beat up old toy…

He shook his head, continuing to sort through his stuff one-handed. Eventually, he managed to find it -- his music player. This, he had paid attention to before he left. He’d planned ahead.

He made his way back to the workshop, this time shutting the door behind him. He booted up the player and found the right playlist: "Obnoxious Dad Music".

The effect was immediate. Every surface around him burst into vibration, jittering lighter objects and thrumming in Phil's chest.

He leaned back in his office chair, closing his eyes. But no, that wasn’t right. He’d never had a chair like this in the old workshop. It was a stool, or a bench. Something that wouldn’t stain. He adjusted his seating, leaning forward on the worktop, ignoring the chair back. That was a little better.

He folded his arms on the tabletop and put his head down on them, trying to be somewhere else. Somewhere he wasn’t allowed anymore. He’d felt safe in the old workshop. That was his home, far more than this place with his name on the title. And he’d hated dad’s music at the time, but it was familiar. He realized he was still gripping the toy, which, ok, babyish. But the vibrations said 'dad,' and the toy was as close to a family picture as he had, and the faint smell of coffee -- the same kind he and mom both liked -- finally registered. It was cold and undrinkable, but he could just smell it, and it reminded him of her.

He tried to slow down his breathing again. Closed his eyes. Tried to relax the muscles in his shoulders and just pretend he was home. Just for a little while. To clear his head. Deep breath.

It was working before long. Very effectively. He thought if he just let go a little more, he could maybe get some sleep and not have to think about anything for a while.

He was right.

* * *

Jamie trudged home. Signe, Alma, and he were all quiet. That was…unpleasant. Uncomfortable. He hoped he did the right thing by not following Phil, by giving him his space, his privacy. Still, he wanted to hurry up and get home -- make sure Phil was ok.

By the time the elevator got to their floor, he could tell something was wrong. He hesitated to get off. There was a booming sound, and the floor was shaking in a way that reminded him of a different bad day. But Signe stepped off without hesitation, so he followed. By the time he got to the door, he understood the sound -- what it was, if not why. He thought he even recognized the song, something from Tony’s collection. Signe opened the door, which just made things worse. Alma clapped her hands over her ears; Jamie would have done the same if it weren't for an armful of groceries. They had to turn this off before the neighbors threw a fit. Hopefully most of them would be out at work this time of day, but if they weren’t, they’d be calling the cops. “Jarvis, turn the music down!” he shouted, before remembering, again, that this wasn’t home and Jarvis wasn’t there.

Where was it coming from? They didn’t have any major sound system here. He looked around the room, but didn’t see Phil. It was vibrating the whole floor; Phil had to have noticed this.

Signe waved a hand at him and pointed towards the workshop. Jamie set down the grocery bags on the floor, steeling himself for an even worse assault on his hearing. He led the way to the workshop, with Signe following close behind, on alert, like she expected an attack. Alma trailed behind with a disapproving look, not taking her hands off her ears, apparently unconcerned about whatever it was that had Signe on guard.

Thankfully, the workshop door was unlocked. He opened it, and could see Phil, slumped over the desk. He panicked.

He ran to the desk, the others right behind him, but he stopped just short, hesitating. He looked at Phil, who was breathing steadily, and apparently…asleep?

Who could possibly sleep in this? He shook his head and inched closer. Phil had a player next to one hand and…an Iron Man doll in the other. His eyelashes were wet. That was…

Oh…

Phil looked like a big, gangly toddler who’d fallen asleep crying. Phil never cried. 

Jamie came the rest of the way and picked up the player, turning it down drastically. His ears rang in the music's wake, but Phil didn’t wake up. Jamie looked at Alma and Signe. Alma seemed confused, but Signe looked absolutely heartsick.

Jamie stood there, looking at Signe. He didn’t know what to say. He shrugged helplessly. Alma still looked baffled. “What the heck?” she asked.

“I guess…he missed home too.” Jamie hazarded. And clearly, he missed Tony, but somehow it seemed rude to Phil to say that part out loud.

“Ugh! Let’s go home, then.” Alma said impatiently.

Jamie looked back down at Phil. How miserable was he in that grocery store, to end up clutching a toy and crying himself to sleep? Jamie rubbed his neck, looking at Signe. “Any ideas?”

Signe shook her head, sadly. “None that I can think of to implement.”

They stood there awkwardly, and Jamie started to feel uncomfortable about the three of them standing around watching him like this. Alma broke the silence. “Maybe we should try to get him to move to his bed? That doesn’t look real comfortable.”

He looked back at Phil. It really didn’t look comfortable. When he woke up, his neck and back would be all kinds of a mess. Maybe they should wake him? But he’d be so embarrassed they’d seen this. Maybe if he didn’t know they’d all seen it. “Maybe…I could talk to him alone for a minute? Do you guys mind? I just think three people is more than he wants to see right now.”

Signe wasn’t happy, but she was resigned. “If you think that’s best.”

Alma took her cue from Signe. “Yeah, ok.”

Signe looked Phil over again, sadly. “What will you say to him?”

Jamie could only rub his face. “I don’t know. But…” He looked back at Signe. “I think he needs to see Tony.”

Signe grimaced. “Might that just make things worse? Tony--“

“Is his  _dad_ , Signe, and look at him. He obviously misses him. Phil isn’t...like this.” He faced Signe directly. “Do you really mean it about treating me as a leader?”

Signe looked embarrassed, but nodded. Jamie continued, “Then you have to figure out how to get along with Tony. Remember when he said he needed you to come with him for Tony’s sake? Things are going to be messed up as long as he thinks he has to protect Tony from you.”

Signe nodded, if reluctantly. “I’ll think on it.”

“Great.” Jamie said. He wasn’t convinced about this, but it was worth a try. “Fine.” He took a deep breath. “Ok. I’m gonna…gonna try this.”

“Good luck,” Alma said. “Oh, and I’ll message Ms. Potts for you.”

He turned back to her. “What? Mom? Why?”

She blinked at him. “You said ‘Jarvis’, right by the front door. So she’ll have gotten the feed sent to her phone. And that must have looked really weird out of context.”

“I-- what? To her phone?” He knew the audio would turn on with the key words, but that shouldn’t…oh. But since there weren’t regular security camera watchers, that system was only useful if there were notifications, so… “So every time I’ve messed up and said ‘Jarvis’, mom, Clint and Natasha saw it? And heard it?”

“Yep.”

“Great.” He rolled his eyes. Well, they were family. Not like they hadn’t seen him do more embarrassing things than talk to an AI that didn’t happen to be installed where he was. Alma was heading back out of the workshop. Signe was lagging, watching Phil and worrying, but after another second's hesitation, she also turned and left.

Jamie turned his attention back to Phil, who looked just as lost and…well…pathetically endearing as before. Jamie sighed. He wasn’t in any hurry to wake Phil up if Phil was tired enough to fall asleep that fast, but that really didn’t look comfortable for his neck.

Jamie put a hand on Phil’s shoulder. “Hey, Phil.” He shook his head again. No, that wasn’t useful. He put a little more pressure on Phil’s shoulder; Phil made a vague noise in the back of his throat. Jamie waited, and after a second Phil cracked his eyes open, giving Jamie a dirty look. Jamie smiled, trying to look sympathetic and encouraging. He glanced around, but didn’t see the glasses. He tapped his own neck, trying to explain to Phil what he was worried about.

Phil sat up. His eyes were still a bit pink. Had they been that way that morning? Maybe that was just eye strain. He rolled his head, stretching his neck out. “Bed?” Jamie suggested, hoping Phil could read his lips well enough for that. Phil was so embarrassed…verging on defeated. He dropped the doll back on the desk. He didn’t mention the music. He nodded wearily, not looking at Jamie, negating any further chances of lipreading, and pushed himself to his feet. 

Well. Uh. No having a talk then. Not now, anyways. Phil shuffled off to his room, leaving Jamie alone in the workshop. If Phil wanted to talk to him, he would have gotten the glasses out.

Jamie sighed and sat down in Phil’s chair, spinning it absently. So far, this wasn’t going well.

* * *

The good news was, everyone had agreed to show up. The bad news was that Tony wasn’t really sure what kind of reception he’d be getting from some of them. The dinner plan had somehow turned into brunch, which meant he hadn’t even been able to talk to Steve beforehand. He stretched his legs across Pepper’s huge, L-shaped couch, considering. Ok, he was good with Natasha and Pepper, that was taken care of. Steve…might not be thrilled about making this so public so fast. But then, he didn’t like to keep secrets either. Tony was feeling a bit rushed, and he was used to his personal life being the stuff of tabloids. Then there was Clint and Thor.

Clint’s current attitude towards Tony was perfectly clear from their last interaction. Well, the last interaction Tony could remember clearly. The morning the kids left was hazy for him -- he may have accidentally doubled up on his painkillers after struggling to get his damn blazer on and removing the sling. He could do without the sling for brief periods now, but it wasn’t comfortable. He had it back on, now, after a little too much exuberance this morning (still worth it). So, that morning was as much a haze as if he’d been on a bender at the time. But he was pretty sure he’d barely interacted with anyone. Thor…He had no idea. He knew Thor had tried to talk to him at the same time Clint had gone off on him, but they hadn’t talked since.

Natasha was the first to arrive, giving Pepper an encouraging, soothing smile and Tony a smirk before joining Pepper in the kitchen for a quiet conversation Tony couldn’t quite overhear. He was debating either going to the kitchen or making a smartass remark when Steve arrived. Pepper answered the door, and there was another moment of awkwardness. From this angle, Tony could just about make out Steve’s big puppy eyes and Pepper’s long-suffering smile.

Pepper spoke first. “Hi, Steve, come on in. Tony and Natasha are already here.” She touched his arm lightly, trying to reassure him, and it seemed to work. Steve’s smile lost some of its nervous edge.

Steve stepped in. “Need any help setting up? With the table or anything?” He glanced into the kitchen, with a smile and nod for Tasha, who grinned at Steve very much the same way she’d smirked at Tony. This seemed to embarrass Steve a little, but he grinned as he turned away. Which, of course, brought his face around to Tony’s direction. Pepper rolled her eyes good-naturedly as Steve’s expression shifted to…smitten? Was that smitten? Tony grinned.

He gave Steve a very unconcealed once-over with his eyes. Wow. Yes. Steve had always (or, at least, for the past 90 years or so) been a model of physiological perfection, but now, knowing that Steve was  _his_ cast him in a whole new light. A very flattering one, at that. Steve turned his attention back to Pepper when she answered, “No, that’s fine. It’s mostly coming up from catering anyways. Go ahead and have a seat.” She was a font of brilliant ideas. Wonderful, brilliant Pepper.

“You’ll let me know if you need any help--” he started, but he was already backing towards the couch. Tony felt a bit of a thrill at his obvious interest in getting over to Tony as fast as possible. That was -- that was just adorable. He saw Pepper suppress another eye roll as she nodded her assurance to him, and Steve, duty fulfilled, turned his attention back to Tony. Tony offered a small wave from his position with his back against the arm of the sofa, with his good shoulder draped across the back. Hmm. This position limited the number of options for maximizing socially acceptable physical contact with Steve.

Wait, would Steve want that? Public displays of affection, and all? He was pretty handsy in general, but maybe he’d be self-conscious now. But then, he’d held Pepper’s hand whenever she’d let him, when those two were dating…

Tony curled up his legs, making room, to see what Steve would do. Steve took the seat without hesitation, so Tony uncurled his legs across Steve’s lap. He watched, trying not to look over-eager for a reaction, but if anything, Steve looked more comfortable than usual. He rested one arm easily across Tony’s legs, and stretched his other arm across the back of the couch, fingers just brushing Tony’s. Tony fought down an embarrassing grin in favor of a smug smile, which Steve seemed to find amusing. A little too amusing, so maybe Tony wasn’t doing as well as he’d thought at not looking completely sappy. Well, worse things had happened.

“Hi,” he greeted.

“Hi,” Steve said.

“Your hickey is gone.” Tony added, pointing slightly.

Steve actually laughed, looking embarrassed again. “Next time, not anyplace so obvious, ok?”

What a beautiful invitation. Tony raised his eyebrows. “Well, where should I put it?”

Steve just laughed again, shaking his head. See? Steve wasn’t  _that_  much of a boy scout. He could handle this. Could handle Tony. Right? Tony’s volume and speed. And tactlessness. And neediness, and sexual impulsiveness...Well, most of that Steve was used to by now. And really, Tony hadn’t had a major relationship to test himself in…well, since Pepper.

Another door knock, but Natasha, sitting on Pepper’s counter, called “Come in!” before Pepper got to the door. Clint let himself in, doing his customary sweep of the room before settling on anything to look at. He nodded a greeting at Pepper, but his end gaze was on Steve and Tony. He chewed the inside of his cheek a second, eyebrows up, considering. He reached some kind of conclusion punctuated with a simple “Huh,” shoved his hands in his pockets, and stepped over.

Tony realized belatedly that he was sitting in Clint’s favorite spot -- the only seat from which you could see everyone in both the kitchen and the living room. He debated moving as some kind of peace offering, but that might seem weird. Clint folded his legs up and sat on the ottoman, facing the two of them. Which was…disconcerting. Like they were being evaluated. Judged? Steve could feel it too -- he shifted just a bit, showing his confidence a little more overtly, ready to defend this if pressed. Tony followed suit, making it clear he did not need Clint’s permission for this even if, truthfully, he wanted it. 

Clint tilted his head a bit towards the kitchen and pitched his voice to carry. “You said there was a hickey.”

“Oh God,” he heard Pepper mutter from the kitchen, not unamused.

Natasha strode over to the back of the other side of the couch, looking at Steve, head tilted. “You took too long. Gonna have to take my word for it.”

Steve was making that lips-tight face, looking down and to the side, that he did when someone was “ribbing” him but he knew he deserved it. He didn’t look irritated, at least. Tony found this extremely entertaining. “I could do an encore,” he offered. Steve gave another embarrassed laugh, but didn’t say anything.

Tony was hoping this was a declaration of a cease-fire with Clint, but Clint’s momentary smile evaporated, replaced by a much more serious expression, this time directed completely at Tony. Tony fought the urge to lean back. For being the most normal human in the group, and for all that Tony had known him for a couple of decades, Clint could be damned disconcerting when he wanted to be. His eyes locked on Tony’s. “Stark?”

“Yuh-huh.”

“You have some serious issues.”

“Yyyyes.” Tony agreed.

“Deal with them.”

Tony blinked at him. “Ah. Right.”

“Drink less. A lot less.” Unusually direct. But, well, Clint usually either said nothing, or said exactly what he meant. Tony felt Steve’s fingers increase pressure on Tony just a bit. A little mark of support. For Tony, or for Clint's words. Which…really…were kind of for Tony.

Drink less. Right. Part of him wanted to protest that his worst behavior lately had all been while sober, but…

No. He’d done this before. He’d cut down his drinking. Recognized that he needed to cut down. And he knew he was drinking a lot more, the last year or so. 

Maybe…if people were planning on staying…he could need it less. Find a different buffer.

Maybe it would make Jamie feel safer. Make Signe less angry. 

Make Clint stop looking at him like that because  _geez_ that was unpleasant. 

Anyways, he had a good lead with not having drank so far. Even if he'd had to throw out a few thousand bucks' worth of booze to do it. “Ok.”

“Ok?”

“Ok. You got it. Major cutbacks in progress.”

Clint made what seemed to be a conscious effort to be a little less piercing, and relaxed. Tony glanced around the too-quiet room, and that was a mistake. Pepper was giving him a longing look with carefully-guarded, slightly desperate hope. Steve was looking down at Tony’s leg, but lifted a hand to give...it looked like a scratch, just under his eye. Please, let that be an itch and not the other thing it looked like. Even Natasha, who’d been teasing him so cheerfully, was showing truly unsettling levels of seriousness and worry. For him. 

God, he was an ass.

Clint's voice was still oddly neutral.  “Nat says we shouldn’t be expecting any eviction notices.”

Tony feigned shock, desperate to lighten the mood. “Eviction notices?” He pitched his voice to carry. “Pepper, you know you have to consult me before evicting anyone. The order’s only good if we both sign it.” Pepper joined Natasha behind the other arm of the couch, one hand on her hip, halfway back to equilibrium. “Really, you have to stop trying to evict our friends. Very unbecoming.” 

Barton snorted. He looked like he was about to say something when there was yet another knock. He turned to see Pepper trotting over to the door to open it for Thor.

Where Steve had looked sheepish and Barton stoic, Thor stood, looking humble and uncertain. Pepper ushered him in with a gracious smile, and he smiled back his thanks, but he looked like he was expecting something painful. Except that, in general, Thor expecting something painful looked determined, grim, brave. This bordered more on resignation. “Thor, not you too.” groaned Tony.

Thor looked momentarily affronted before his humility snapped back. “What?”

“You think I’m going to try to kick you out?”

“Should I?” He seemed genuinely concerned.

“Fuck’s sake.” Tony breathed out in irritation. Didn't anyone in this tower trust him? Well, no, probably not. But he could work on that. He leaned his head back, and felt Steve’s hand moving -- just slightly, just a little soothing gesture -- on Tony’s calf. Well, they all seemed to like him anyways. “No. Nobody is leaving.” He choked back a bit. That wasn’t true. He amended bitterly, “Nobody  _else_  is leaving. Jesus Christ, people.”

Thor seemed momentarily lost, and geez, seeing Thor look vulnerable was just uncomfortable. “Even me?”

Tony was baffled by this line of thought. ‘Even Thor’? Why would Thor of all people get singled out? He realized Clint, Natasha and Pepper were paying closer attention again. Steve was still looking at Tony’s legs. “Come again? Why the hell…” He looked at Steve for some kind of hint, but Steve looked back at Tony, evaluating Tony’s expression as much as the others now. No help. He looked back at Thor, who was still radiating guilt and regret. “Did you do something to my roof again? Because I’m kind of used to that.” It was a joke, mostly. But seriously, what were these people expecting?

“Tony,” Steve said quietly, getting Tony’s attention. Finally, a hint.Steve looked meaningfully at Tony's still-throbbing collar bone.

“What, seriously?” He looked back at Thor. “That was Signe. Not you.”

Thor gathered himself. “She is my responsibility.”

“And I distinctly remember you pulling him off me. Which was appreciated.”

“I should have taught her better--“

“That would have been nice, yes. I would appreciate that even more. Not doing this again would be great. But the point remains, it was him, not you.”

Thor looked down a bit, nodding to himself. “But she is my daughter. I can not live where she is not allowed.”

Tony was losing patience with this. “I didn’t kick him out, he  _left._ Not my idea. At  _all._ He shows up tomorrow with his suitcase, I’ll give him damn Banner’s place if I have to. I did not, and  _have_  not, told  _anybody_  to leave. Ever. Can we please let go of this idea now?”

Thor closed his eyes, ducking his head to hide how obviously relived he was feeling. He exhaled, and pressure drained from him. He walked over to the couch, sitting at the far end with a heavy thump. He looked at Tony,all passionate sincerity. “Thank you. Your hospitality and forgiveness are…well, beyond generous.” Tony rolled his eyes.

Clint piped up from his ottoman perch. “Just like that? You’re over Signe breaking bones that fast? You’ve thrown bigger fits about Steve’s taste in pants.”

Tony looked at Clint. “No, I’m mad at him. He broke my collarbone. Do you know how little you can do without moving your collarbone, neck, or upper back?Particularly with a new…” he gestured at Steve, then cut himself short. “They had to put a mesh in. Additional metal in my body,  _and_ surgery on the worst day of my life. I don’t think I said I wasn’t mad.” Thor was wincing.

“You want her back, though.” Clint had the good sense to not make it a question.

“He’s 17. Do you have any idea what I was like at 17? I assume Rhodey told at least a few stories behind my back. There are things I did that year that I’m  _still_  embarrassed about. Me. Think about that.” And it was true. Between 17 and 21, Tony had been a hurricane of bad choices, chemical addictions, and impulsiveness, with no anchor, job, or goals. Signe at least was good most of the time. “Besides…” He hesitated over admitting the next part out loud. “I’m glad he stopped me. Not my preferred method, but yeah. Good end goal.”

The room went still. Yep. Nothing like allusions to child abuse to bring down a party. It took him a second, but he dared a look at Steve.  Steve gave him a small, sad, sincere smile, and rubbed Tony’s leg again. After that he manages to look at the rest of the room.

Natasha had a subdued, approving look on her face. Clint was similar. Thor looked thoughtful, and wasn’t looking at Tony anymore. Pepper…

_Oh crap_ , he hadn’t talked to Pepper about this even once. He’d talked to Steve and Jamie, but not her. Damn it. 

She was facing away from him; he couldn’t see her expression. In everything that had been happening, he’d just lost track of that part, been afraid to approach her, unwilling to risk getting a door shut in his face, no matter how much he deserved it. And she hadn’t said one word about it to him. Natasha followed his line of sight back to Pepper and took a step back, leaning to see Pepper’s face. Pepper moved her head just a little, making eye contact, and Natasha put a hand on her arm. 

Tony looked away. He felt Steve’s fingers interlace with his own on the back of the couch. He almost flinched away from it. Damn it, now he almost wished they’d both yell at him, hate him, just for a while. Tony still wasn't good at needing forgiveness. At handling the kind of debt you owed for being forgiven when you didn’t really deserve it.

He was startled when Clint spoke first, sounding casual. “On the subject, sorry for screaming at you, Stark.”

“What? Oh, yeah. No problem.” Because Tony had no problem forgiving that one, and Clint very seldom needed to apologise to Tony for anything significant, especially outside of the field. “Thanks for the lookout during the rebuild,” he added, also glancing at Thor and Natasha. Which gave him an excuse to check on Pepper, who seemed more or less normal again. Note to self: talk to Pepper privately later.

Clint nodded. “Ok, we all good for cleared air, here? Everybody said whatever they needed to say for now?” There was general nodding. “Good, then I really think we should get back to making fun of Steve and Tony, and start eating.” That eased the tension considerably in the room. God bless Clint.

“It’s really not that funny.” Tony said, knowing full well this was a completely futile argument.

“It really is.” Natasha disagreed immediatly.

Thor sounded vaguely annoyed. “I’m still waiting for someone to explain ‘hickeys’. Natasha was no help at all.”  Clint snorted a laugh. Steve’s laugh this time was silent. 

Tony considered this, head tilted. Did Asgardians not get hickeys? That would make some amount of sense; they were pretty damn indestructable. “Huh. Steve, you wanna take this one?”

“Nope.” Steve answered promptly.

Tony looked back at Thor, shrugging lopsidedly. “Sorry, you're gonna have to Google it.” 

Thor sighed and pulled out his cell from a back pocket, actually looking it up. How had anyone thought he’d kick out Thor? 

Natasha sat gingerly on the back of the couch. “So, just how dumb do you two feel for taking this long to figure this out?”

“Hey, not my fault.” Tony answered. “How the hell was I supposed to know that Captain Old-Fashioned here would go for someone with a Y chromosome?”

The gleeful glint in Tasha’s eye warned him before she spoke. “Who here knew Steve plays for both teams?” she asked, putting up one hand. Clint shrugged readily and put up his hand. 

Thor took a break from his phone. “This says hickeys are considered a badge of honor among teenagers.” Pepper choked politely on a laugh. Natasha didn’t bother. Thor then looked at Steve evaluatingly before focusing on Tony. “You gave him one, then?” Tony shrugged confirmation. Thor nodded, leaning back and going back to his phone. “Impressive.”

Tony would have laughed at that, but he hadn’t gotten over Natasha’s little poll yet. He looked at Steve accusingly. “Them. You told them and not me?”

“He didn’t tell me,” Natasha interrupted him. “He got caught.”

“And I’m just...not blind.” Clint added. 

“Sorry, caught?” Tony was incredulous. He looked at Steve, who was too busy looking like he might die to be of any use. He looked back at Natasha. “Doing what?” Which was probabaly a stupid question. “No, never mind what. _Who_? When?” He noticed Pepper was also fully engaged now, waiting on the answer. 

Thor lowered his phone again, looking back at Natasha. “I thought better of you. You’re only picking on the Captain when he’s clearly the easier target.”

“You want me to go after embarrassing Stark?”

He nodded. “Both of them or neither, but certainly not only Steve. It’s…unsportsmanlike.”

Natasha set her jaw stubbornly. A challenge issued. What the hell, it was probably time to give Steve a break. Tony was a romantic like that. “Best shot.” He invited maganamously. She gave him a long, evaluative look. He was pretty damn hard to embarass, after all. But a slow, triumphant smile spread over her face. 

She looked back down at Thor. “Two of them, so it’s only fair for me to have two in my hunting party then, hm?”

Thor considered this, and nodded. Apparently, he was the referee now. He was expecting her to pick Clint. She always picked Clint. But instead, she turned around to face behind her, to…Pepper. “Back me up?” she requested sweetly.

This request startled Pepper as much as Tony, if not moreso. He felt his eyes widen and saw Steve’s eyebrows inch upwards. Ooh. So there was another reason to not get involved with your ex’s exes. He got a bad but not unfamiliar feeling as Pepper’s small vindictive streak started to show through. She looked at them both. Tony tried to access his mental file of “embarassing things Pepper knows about me” and shut down, unable to compute. But his ego rallied while his brain was shut down, and he gestured again. “Go nuts,” he told her, cursing himself internally. 

“Really.” She said back, offering him one chance to back out. He knew she wouldn't give another. 

“Absolutely,” he answered back, because he was a complete idiot. 

She considered this a moment longer, gauging exactly how hard to attack. She was irritated with him, but not actually  _angry_ angry anymore **,** so probably not going to do his reputation any significant harm, but…

She settled on something. “Well, if you’re sure.” She turned to address Natasha. “Tony got caught with a vintage photo of Captain America in the bathroom with him in his last week of boarding school.” And because Pepper was classy, she didn’t explain why, but she hardly needed to. Clearly, even Thor was getting this one. Tony felt his face heating almost painfully. He couldn’t look at Steve. There was no way he wasn’t blushing. God damn. Blushing. That was not a thing Tony Stark  _did_. 

It got worse; Pepper wasn’t done talking. She kept her eyes calmly focused on Natasha, who was faking detached, polite interest despite her internal glee. “Which, if you care to do the math, means Tony has been paying… _special interest_  to Steve for a grand total of forty-seven years.”

And at that, Pepper turned back to check her results, Natasha following suit. God damn. Tony hadn’t even done the math. He didn’t like that math. Forty-seven years was…

Steve’s ice-not-included age.

He cleared his throat. “Well. At least I’m…consistent,” he said. 

At that, Clint broke down. He was laughing hard enough to go red in the face himself, but he did manage to gasp out something to the effect of “Pepper, you are my  _favorite._ ”

Natasha was so smug, it almost looked like a health risk. “And It  _still_  took you this long to make a move. Amazing.”

Thor tried to look placating, but couldn’t look enough like he didn’t want to laugh to quite pull it off. “I think it is admirable dedication. Quite romantic.” And that just set Clint off again. Pepper tilted her head with a sweet smile. 

Tony couldn’t put it off anymore. He looked at Steve, who was staring at him so blankly he seemed unable to proccess the information. Clint was still laughing.

Right. Attempt distraction. “So. I think there’s waffles or something? Are we eating? Because I was promised I’d be fed in exchange for putting up with all of this.”

“This was your idea, Tony.” Pepper reminded him. 

“Yeah. Get this out of the way as much as possible. Are we done now?”

Natasha responded instantly, “Not remotely. Not for  _years._ ”

Tony didn’t sigh, because that would look like he’d been defeated. Besides, this was ok, really. Embarassing, but ok. They were all talking, getting along again, and he had Steve petting his leg. Which, ok, appearently he’d wanted for most…wow, really most, of his life. He managed a smile, and moved to get up. Steve snapped into action as soon as he saw what Tony was doing, getting to his own feet and offering Tony a hand up. He heard Natasha snicker, which obligated him to make at least a cursory eyeroll at Steve's chivalry, but he let Steve help him up. It seemed to be an excuse for Steve to put his hand on the small of Tony's back, so that was all right. "Honestly, I'm going to need food as a bribe to keep putting up with this. Especially after you all put the eviction idea in my head. It'll be your own fault, now." 

And he was pleased to see that nobody took his threat remotely seriously. God, he loved these people. 

Pepper crossed her arms. "The catering will be up any minute, so don't be so--" She stopped as her phone, and Natasha's and Clint's phones, all went off at the same time. Tony looked at Thor, who looked down at his own phone, but no, his phone hadn't gone off. And Pepper wasn't an Avenger, so what...

The three with ringing phones answered them with a suspicious amount of urgency, holding their phones for video feed instead of speech without even checking who was calling. 

It sounded like Phil, but in triplicate, since all three of them had their phones out. "Cue up some of dad's shitty music. Really loud." His voice was rough -- scared, or crying or something. Tony felt panic rising in his chest. Clint was closest, still on the ottoman, and Tony pushed Clint’s hand down so he could see the screen.

It was Phil, sitting in front of a door, wearing a coat and his shoes, but not his glasses. His chest was heaving and he was blinking rapidly. He covered his face with his hands, clearly crying now. Tony heard Pepper make a heartbroken noise; he felt like the breath had been knocked out of him. Of course, Phil must have cried before, at some point. Still, it wasn't something Tony had personally seen since Phil was younger than Jamie was now. He wanted to reach through the phone and pull Phil back to him. Not that he'd have really any idea how even to soothe his son now. When Phil was little, he'd always wanted to be hugged or picked up when he was upset, ideally to be carried around for a while. He could sit in Tony’s lap and watch him work for hours, till he fell asleep there. But that was a long time ago. 

Steve's voice got his attention, reserved but concerned. “What’s this?"

Tony looked at Clint, Clint looked at Natasha and Pepper. Tony followed his eyes there. Pepper didn't look up from the screen, but Natasha pulled her eyes away long enough to meet Steve’s. "Security feed," she answered steadily. "Alma wanted us to keep an eye on her when she's not here."

Steve wasn't convinced. "But that's Phil." 

Natasha raised her chin, looking at him steadily. "The feed signals us when certain key words are used that might indicate that they need help."

"And does Phil know what those words are? Or that this is even here?" Steve sounded ready to challenge Natasha over this. Tony realized, a bit belatedly, that there might be some moral crap at stake here. He looked back down at Clint's phone. Phil was pushing himself to his feet, walking out of the frame. Tony took Clint's phone; Clint made no move to stop him. He started flicking through the display -- there were only four cameras, and none of the kids were on any of them.

 "Unless they've told him, then no. And as far as I know, they haven't." Natasha answered.

Thor glanced at Clint, who was keeping his expression blank, before turning to face the two women. "You've been spying on them?"

Pepper looked up from the phone with calm, icy determination. "I hope you're not planning to object. Because this is what needed to be done. For my sanity, if nothing else." 

Clint added, "It's just the perimeter. And none in the workshop. You know damn well Phil isn't in any shape to take care of the other three right now, but he's the supposed 'adult'. This situation needed extra eyes on it."

Steve's voice took on an angry tinge. "And why is this the first I'm hearing about it?" 

And  _that_ was an interesting question. Apparently only half of them were in on this. Tony stood, taking a step back so he could face Clint, Pepper, and Natasha all in one go. But Pepper seemed to be the ringleader on this one, and she met his eyes without flinching. "Steve, I didn't tell you because I didn't want to deal with the argument. Not yet, anyway. Tony, as far as I knew, you weren't in any shape to be talking to the kids, and I expected you'd notice the incoming feed eventually. Thor..." she shrugged, this time with some actual regret. "I honestly assumed Signe would have told you. I'm sorry."

There was a tense silence. Tony, for his part, was torn. On the one hand, he was angry about being excluded. On the other, angry at the invasion of Phil’s privacy. On the other-other, relieved to have some means of watching the kids. Plus, he was sort of offended on Steve’s behalf, and...there were a lot of possible reactions here that all seemed valid but wouldn’t mesh. 

As he stalled trying to sort out his own reaction, Steve pinched the bridge of his nose, his mouth a thin line, and took a deep breath. "Ok. Anybody else have any major secrets they’re keeping, now?"

Another pause, then one by one everyone shook their head or gave some muttered version of "no". Tony shook his head before realising that it was a lie. "Oh. Ah. I gave Jamie a weapon." 

All eyes were on him. He shrugged. He expected Pepper to get shrill about it, but she just looked surprised. "Just tranq darts, but the good ones. Arranged so only he can fire them.”

The look Steve gave him was more weary than anything else. Which was good. Since Tony honestly wasn't sure how Steve would respond to that. "Ok." He looked back at the group. “Anyone else?" Again with the head shaking.

Natasha shrugged. “if we’re counting that, Alma has a gun.” Pepper was past exasperated, and Clint looked away akwardly. 

The door knocked, and everyone jumped. Well, except Clint and Natasha, who just suddenly had 100% of their focus on the door, which was the equivalent. Pepper figured it out first. "Oh. The caterer." She headed for the door, and opened it to a woman with a cart full of steaming food. There was a tense quiet at the food was brought in and arranged on the table, nobody wanting to continue the discussion in front of a stranger.

Tony decided he'd had enough tension for the moment and meandered over to the table, taking a seat. There was no reason to not do this while eating. After a moment, the rest of the group joined him, as Pepper saw the staff back to the door. This was the real dining table, the one with room for everyone, which meant five empty chairs Tony worked hard not to look at. The remaining group clustered together at one end, apparently all having similar reactions. People served themselves food off the plates brought in, restricting themselves to comments about the food and objects needing to be passed, as Pepper got back to the table and sat down at the table head.

A few bites in, and Tony felt a little more ready to consider this. Ok. So. Unauthorized surveillance at Phil’s place, that he hadn't been told about. Just going to have to let go of the "being excluded" part of that for now. Pepper was right, though. He would have noticed that incoming feed eventually. Which meant that Phil would notice it eventually, too, didn't it? Or was he going to be paying that much attention to security? One way or another, he'd find out, Tony was sure. And then what? He'd be furious at all of them, at least. And more than likely, at the other kids. Which would just make him hole up and tell them less. Which would make it harder for them to be any good to him, and probably break Jamie’s heart at  _least_. "We have to tell him," he said aloud. 

Reactions were mixed. Thor seemed approving, Steve thoughtful and tense. Clint wasn't looking at anyone; Pepper thinned her lips, but didn't immediately say anything.

Natasha's tone was dry, but not argumentative. "Tell him a couple of things. I'm still holding you to telling them about you two sooner rather than later. But I'm not convinced that telling Phil about the security system at this juncture is a good idea. He could shut it down pretty easily."

Clint continued the thought. "Which would leave us with no way of keeping an eye on them other than actually physically being there. Things have been quiet lately, but eventually we're going to get called back out again for something that takes more than a few hours."

Tony gestured with his hand, nearly jabbing Steve with a fork in the proccess "He's going to catch on eventually. He's pissed off enough at the world as it is. Just tell him it's so we can watch Jamie and Alma. He might just agree to it."

Steve dodged the fork and gently pressed Tony's hand down out of the way. "You really think he'd go for it?"

Tony set the fork down. "Ok, look. He hasn't called me. Phil hasn't. Has he contacted any of you?" He was greeted with a round of morosely shaken heads. "Then how close is he to just never speaking to any of us again? Finding out we put a camera feed in his place...fuck, what if Hammer manages to be the one to tell him? How's that going to make us look? Don't tell him we already did it. Just ask him." He looked at Pepper. "The kids are still on his good side. Don't let him find out they did this behind his back. He needs the backup."

Pepper looked doubtful, but not completely resistant. "He could always say no," she reminded him.

"He could also tear the camera down any time he wanted. You want him to do that before or after he stops speaking to everybody?"

"I agree," Thor added. "He'd be right to be insulted by this."

Clint looked at Thor. "You want the cameras there, though."

Thor fidgeted slightly. "Yes."

"And to have your phone added to the alerts," Clint continued. 

Thor didn't look happy about it, but answered "Yes," again.

There was a brief pause before Clint looked at Tony. "Better go talk to him soon, Stark."

Tony raised his eyebrows. He'd been planning to, but..."Are you going to threaten to 'out' me, too?”

Clint swallowed a mouthful of bagel. "Didn't you notice what he said? ‘Dad’s shitty music’. He was trying to cue up one of your playlists. And I don't think it was because he was craving some AC/DC for its own sake."

Tony blinked for a second. "But...he can't even hear it. Why would he--"

Clint shrugged. "No idea. But it's something to do with you, anyways. Sounds to me like he's missing home."

Tony looked at Pepper. She looked sad, but like maybe she agreed. She was looking off into space somewhere halfway down the table.

Missing home, huh? That would be nice. Tony tried to remember if he missed home at that age. Well, he hadn’t really had one by then. He’d barely even registered his parent's deaths for months. Although, looking back, he had been drinking a  _lot_  for months after the funeral. 

He'd always just assumed Phil would move out and move on, and not be back much until it was time for him to get involved in SI. That was what he'd expected -- planned for. But maybe, things being the way they were, Phil was actually wanting more support than what he was reaching for. 

Tony nodded again. "I'll get on it." he agreed, a little more rattled-sounding than he meant to be. He felt Steve's leg shift, his calf now next to Tony's, a strange little motion of support. Tony looked at him, and Steve put a hand on his arm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And great thanks to gerbilfluff for an amazingly last minute copy-edit.
> 
> Reminder that I'm over at Tumblr as Constant_Instigator with an open askbox. :) I've been enjoying meeting y'all.


	16. Chapter 16

 

Alma was doing math worksheets when Phil stormed into the living room several hours after the grocery shop disaster. She looked up from the tablet as Phil slammed his bedroom door behind him, up from his nap and furious. Next to her on the couch, Jamie jumped half a foot. Phil had his glasses on and a tablet in one hand, and his face was kind of red.  

Phil brandished the tablet “What the hell is this about mom, Clint and Natasha seeing things that happen here? Phone notifications? What the _shit_ you guys?”

Alma blinked in confusion for a moment. Where had Phil heard about that? He'd been sleeping when they'd talked about it around him, and he hadn't even been wearing the glasses.

 

Oooh. But just because Phil was asleep didn't mean his glasses were _turned off_. Of course they would make a record he could read later. He'd bugged the workshop without even meaning to. Whoops. Rookie mistake. She looked at Jamie, whose eyes were round as he sat, frozen, trying to come up with a response. Alma considered playing dumb, but Phil clearly knew the score. The jig was up. She looked behind her at Signe, who was biting her lip, and managed a response first. “We were going to tell you-“

 

“When?” Phil demanded. “ _When_ were you going to tell me?”

 

Jamie finally got his act together. “When you seemed calm enough to think about it, and when you acted like you actually wanted to talk to any of us.”  

Phil snapped back “Too bad. Explain it now.”

 

Jamie was trying to put together some kind of diplomatic way of explaining this, but Alma had been practicing. “It’s for me.” Phil focused on her. Yeah, that seemed to take the wind out of his sails a little. “Cause Phil… I’m twelve. And your like my big brother, but not like a parent. You shouldn’t have to be taking care of me while I’m here. So Clint’s doing it remotely.” She set down her tablet and gave him the big eyes. “Hammer gives me the creeps, and I want Clint to be able to help. And so obviously if Clint’s watching Natasha’s going to, too. And Ms. Potts being included just makes sense in case they’re on a mission. But the sound is off most of the time and it’s just four cameras and none of them are in the workshop. Please don’t be too mad.”

 

Phil didn’t look real appeased. “So it’s not- they’re not watching me.”

 

Alma shook her head. “No, you’re the only one of us they don’t have to watch. It’s the rest of us they need to keep an eye on.”

 

Phil ground his teeth for a second. He wanted to be mad. She tried to look a little younger, a little more anxious. “What about Jarvis?’ he gritted out.

 

Jamie flinched, glancing at the camera. He was pointedly quiet for the 30 seconds it took for the feed to cut back out again. Phil glared at the camera by the door. She hoped he wasn't going to take it down. Clint wouldn't let her stay without that. Jamie continued. “ That's one of the key words that turns the audio on and sends them an alert. Which uh… I don’t think I’d realized how often I’d try to talk to him here when we set that up,” Alma smirked. Jamie was really bad about that. Clint didn’t like using Jarvis as much as Tony or Ms. Potts did, so she wasn’t as used to it as them. “I thought I might call for him if there was an emergency, without thinking.”

 

Phil was still pissed. “What are the other key words?”

 

Jamie typed into his tablet, making sure not to set the surveillance off again. Alma caught a glance at the list "Emergency, Ambulance, Help." Oh. No mention of “nanites.” She looked at Jamie, but there wasn't anything on his face she could see to give him away, and Phil was kind of dense about that kind of thing anyways.  

Phil’s eyes ran over the list, still frowning. He ran a hand through his hair. Which didn’t matter much because he pretty much always had mad scientist hair now, anyways. He looked a little calmer except his face had gotten even redder. He must have set it off sometime. “You know, normal people just use a phone. They call 911.”

 Jamie was being all reasonable again. “Yeah, but if something happens to Alma or me, one of the adults from the tower will need to meet us at the hospital. You aren’t any of our legal guardians, so you can’t speak for us at a hospital. This would be one less call to make.”

 

Alma backed him up. “It’s just your mom and Clint and Natasha, Phil, it’s not that big a deal.” 

“It fucking sucks.” He countered, but he was hardly even angry now. “Why do they get to spy on us, but it only goes one way? I’m trying to be on equal footing with them, here.”

 

That wasn’t what she was expecting to hear at all. Well, Jamie’d said Phil was homesick. She had an idea. “You want me to get you a feed of the tower security cams? I have most of the codes for all the hallways and the perimeter. I could get you a tower feed in like, no time. I watched them all the time when Clint was out of town! And when we were all grounded.” Jamie looked at her, some kind of wheels turning in his head. Signe sat up a little straighter. Phil…Phil had that look he had when he wanted something but didn’t want to admit it. Poor, stupid, adorable Phil. She’d take pity on him. “Actually, nevermind. I’m just gonna do that.” She nodded to herself, picking up her tablet again. “I miss everybody, and mostly they looked pretty upset when we left. I should keep an eye on them. “Phil’s right,” she grinned "It’s not fair for it to only go one way.” 

Phil was trying to keep his expression blank, and failing. He really was homesick. He could have set this up himself, but his big stupid Stark ego probably wouldn’t let him. “I’ll be in my room if anybody needs me, setting that up. Just lemme know if you wanna see something.”  

Phil let her pass him without comment, and she almost skipped past him to her bedroom. Jamie was the leader, so maybe she should have run this past him first, but she was really taken with this idea, and it matched his previous orders. Plus, she was as homesick as Phil, even if she was going home tomorrow. And she could help the others feel less homesick, too, this way. She got back to her room, shut the door, and pulled out her good tablet. She had _most_ of the codes she’d need for this, but not quite all. This was going to be fun. She liked being a liaison.

 

* * * 

Tony watched Steve walking just ahead of him. Tony had nothing pressing planned for the day. Well, he _had_ planned to mope around his workshop all day, thinking about the kids and wishing he hadn’t poured out all his booze. That plan seemed to need revising, given this morning’s changes. But Steve had some potential threat reports he’d wanted to go over, which probably meant Tony should leave him alone, at least for a few hours. And then the reports would probably go to Tony, eating up more time. Ugh. Tony considered just following him, but sitting next to Steve, alone, and _not_ distracting him sounded pretty damn difficult. He wanted to distract Steve. Wanted to be distracted.

 

And Steve was pretty distracting. Tony let himself lag behind a few steps, to get a better picture of the full package from behind. Mmm-hmm. Yep. Nice view. New York skyline, eat your heart out. He tried again to evaluate Pepper’s claim that Tony’s vanity would get in the way of this. Did he want to see all of this naked? Yes. Absolutely. Did he want Steve to see him naked? There was at least some kind of pause before Tony could answer himself on that one.

 

About then, Steve noticed Tony lagging behind and turned to look at him, puzzled. Tony made no attempt to hide what he was doing. Steve chuckled, and rolled his eyes. “They’re right, you know.” 

 

“Hm?” Tony answered, wondering if Steve was going to turn around the rest of the way so Tony could get a good look at the front of him, too.

 

Steve did in fact turn the rest of the way around, Tony let his eyes wander. Steve was still talking, “Have you always looked at me like that? Because if so, it’s pretty nuts we haven’t managed to figure this out before now.”

 

Right. Talking. They were talking now and not picturing each other naked. Well, he kind of hoped Steve wasn’t picturing him naked. Wait, was he? He forced himself to focus on Steve’s face “Believe it or not, I tried to be polite about that.” 

“Ah. Well, thank you.” Steve said, just a hint of smartass in his tone.

 

Tony reached a conclusion. He didn’t like trying to look at his thoughts and reason out feelings from there. If his feelings were gonna be shy, he’d flush them out with a stronger stimulus. Tony took a few long strides towards Steve, using his good hand to gently suggest Steve back up a couple paces. Steve’s fond and knowing smile and accommodating step backwards was dizzying. Steve let Tony press him against the wall, and press himself against Steve as well as he could with his _damn_ shoulder and Tony spared a couple neurons for being angry at Signe again because he was on the verge of fulfilling some embarrassingly old fantasies and he didn’t have full use of both his hands when there was an awful lot of Steve available for grabbing.

 

Steve was under no similar handicap and wasted no time getting one hand around Tony’s waist and another on Tony’s good shoulder. Tony settled on using his available hand first to get a good grip on the back of Steve’s neck, pulling him, unresisting, into a deep kiss. He felt Steve exhale and bend around him, maximizing the contact between them. Wow, yes. That was a lot of perfect, firm muscle there. And god, Steve was warm. Steve was always warm. So, for that matter, was Tony- side effect of having a power plant in his chest. Wow, they would have the sweatiest sex. Sweaty looked so good on Steve.

Tony arched against Steve, sliding his hand down his neck across rock hard and exquisitely proportioned shoulders as Steve’s hand around his waist moved up across Tony’s back, charting the muscles there. And there it was- a flash of doubt in Tony’s mind. Steve’s perfect, young, rock-hard body next to Tony’s creaking and battered one creating a dissonance that clanged through his brain and momentarily disrupted his libido.

He pulled away a fraction of an inch, looking to get back a little equilibrium, but Steve responded to the shift by moving his mouth to just under Tony’s jaw, which made Tony’s mind stutter for a moment. Steve used that moment to move his hand from innocently resting on Tony’s shoulder to lightly brushing his ass. Tony hummed appreciatively before his doubt caught up with him and Steve took that as permission, slipping as much of his hand as would fit into the pocket on the back of Tony’s jeans. Tony’s left hand scrabbled between them, trying to find a way to rotate his arm to get a feel of Steve’s abs because he had _always_ wanted to do that and there was just never any good non-creepy excuse for it until now.

 

He gasped at the sharpness of a little bit of tooth on his neck, and opened his eyes. _Yes._ He rotated his own head enough to push Steve’s face off his neck so Tony could go after Steve’s neck. Even at close range it was perfect, no wrinkle, just smooth, curving muscle and certainly no faint facelift scar like Tony had… 

The doubt and self-consciousness flared back again, and he actually pulled away. Steve let him, not chasing him with his mouth this time. Tony looked at him, and it did nothing to get his equilibrium back. Steve was _beaming_ , grinning wide. His eyes were so full of devotion and ...well, that must be love. More than a little intimidating. But damn was it beautiful. It made Tony _want._

He didn't know what his own face looked like right now. But Steve didn't seem to be worried about it, just kept grinning. Tony ran his thumb along that still perfect jaw. Tony's hands in particular showed a lot of weathering, wear and tear on them- his primary way of interacting with and shaping the world for so long. His oldest tools. They were callused and covered in tiny scars and marks, tendons standing out beside bony knuckles. They were still strong, though, still nimble. Steve's eyes dipped closed and he pressed his face lightly against the contact.

 

Maybe he wasn't giving his hands enough credit. They'd seen him through 62 years of innovation, fights and sex and they had served him well. By the way Steve leaned into them, he seemed to trust that they'd serve him well, too.

 

Tony felt himself smile, thinking of some of the ways his hands could do right by Steve. Old and battered they may be, but Tony knew how to work them with well practiced surety.

 

Steve's eyes opened and he took in what had to be Tony's filthy smile. Steve grinned again, a little bit of devil behind his teeth. His hand in Tony's back pocket squeezed lightly. "So, 47 years, huh?"

 

Tony's face heated again, and Steve's grin widened. That ass. But Tony's grin didn't falter, didn't feel forced. "Fuck off, Rogers."

 

"You know, I don't think I've ever seen you blush before-"

 

 _Ass._ Complete ass. This time Tony pushed back, hand flitting lightly to Steve's chest to push off from. Only Steve's hand was still in his pocket, so his push didn't get him far. Wow, Steve really was radiating heat. Tony could end up sweating just from this. "You know, if you're going to try to embarrass me I have some questions of my own I wouldn't mind asking. Particularly about what Natasha said."

 

Steve's shoulders hunched and his smile did turn a bit sheepish, but he still didn't relinquish Tony's pocket. "Maybe for now we should just go back to..."

 

"Yeah." Tony agreed immediately, grabbing for Steve's side as Steve bent to kiss him again. To hell with vanity. He'd been right, not Pepper. Any insecurities he could have had comparing himself to Steve were neatly eclipsed by Steve's bright grin and eager hands. And mouth. Nice- _very_ nice- mouth.

 

Tony lost track of time for a little bit after that. Jarvis's voice cut in, apologetically, tugging him back to reality. “Sir, I hate to interrupt, but there is a minor security breech to the towers defenses I think you should be made aware of.”

 

Steve straightened, looking up slightly, but not actually moving either of his hands. He had evidently claimed Tony's pants as his territory. No complaints. Tony shook his head to clear it a bit. “What? What kind of breech?” Whoever it was, he'd kill them.

 

Jarvis’s voice was calm “Not a grave one, sir, but I thought you should be made aware of it immediately.”

 

Steve sighed with gratifying reluctance, sliding his hand out of Tony’s pocket, resting his fingertips instead on Tony's hip “Sounds like you're needed. And I should…” 

“Yeah” Tony agreed, a bit breathlessly, wondering in the back of his mind if he had condoms that would comfortably fit Steve on hand. He should really check that, since Steve didn't seem particularly concerned with going slow. "I'll find you later."

 

Steve nodded “Later. And let me know what you find out.”

 

Tony nodded, letting Steve go. Steve shot him an apologetic, wistful smile before disappearing through his own door. Tony shook his head again, as if that would clear out the hormones flooding his system, and headed back towards the elevator. As the doors were closing he got his head together enough to address Jarvis again. “So, what’s this non-urgent breech? Or do you just disapprove of making out in hallways?” 

“Not at all, sir. However I thought it might be beneficial for the sake of your privacy, given that Ms. Alma seems to have hacked the security feed from her location at the condominium.”

 

Tony’s eyes widened. “Alma? The security breech is one of the kids?” Ok, maybe no murder then but... damn.

 

“Yes, sir. I did say it was non-urgent. And she did have the majority of the official codes needed for her activity.”

 

“Call her.” He said immediately. There was a pause as Tony reached his own apartment floor, and stepped out.

 

“Hi Tony!” came a bright, cheery voice on the other end.

 

“Hey.” Tony responded, his face heating _again_ because this was not how he wanted this information disseminated. hopefully she hadn’t seen that part… “Alma, sweetie, did you hack the security feed for the tower?”

 

“Uh-huh.” She agreed readily. “That’s ok, right? I’m homesick but I didn’t want to bother you with asking for the codes. You don’t mind?”

 

No word on anything out of the ordinary. She’d probably just been looking for Clint anyways. “Uh, no. No, that’s fine. How are things at the condo?” Jamie had called Tony once, but that had been when Tony was at his worst, and staring down the liquor cabinet he’d assured Steve he wouldn’t be dumb enough to use. It had been close enough he’d had to remove the temptation. He hadn’t been able to bring himself to actually answer, hadn’t wanted Jamie to see or hear him that close to a self-destruct, but the call itself had helped him pour the bottles out in the sink instead of in his mouth. That meant he hadn’t spoken to any of the kids since the move out. The others had, and had talked a little about it over brunch, but it wasn’t the same. 

“Fine. We went grocery shopping this morning. Phil’s still gross and never cleans up after himself in the bathroom. What’s so hard about rinsing the sink, anyways?”

 

“Well, he’s not used to it. Cleaning, I mean. So everything is ok?”

 

“Yeah” she paused. “Are you coming to visit soon? Any of you?”

 

Tony smirked “Is that an invitation?”

 

“Absolutely.” Alma answered promptly. “I, as a resident of this condo, at least some of the time, am inviting you to come and visit.”

 

Which wasn’t strictly necessary- Tony didn’t generally rely on invitations, he went where he wanted, but it made a good excuse if Phil fussed about Tony’s presence. “Then, yeah. I’ll be sure to drop by.”

 

“Great! Oh, and have you got Dr. Banner’s new location and number yet? I didn't want to bother you before, but..."

Tony winced. Fuck.

 

Bruce. Why hadn’t Bruce called yet? Tony tried to remember what exactly he’d threatened Bruce about. He seemed to recall being vague. But Bruce still hadn’t called back. Which meant either he was avoiding Tony, or he wasn’t _able_ to call back. Neither option was comforting.

 

Oh… and he’d totally forgotten to mention Bruce when they were doing their secret-dump at brunch. Damn. It wasn’t really his secret to give, but… no, it was time. Executive decision. He’d just been keeping that one for so long…

 

Maybe get Alma in contact with him first. See if he’d talk to her. “Yeah, I’ll send you those later today.”

 

He could hear her brighten further. “Yeah?”

 

“Sure.”

 

“Yay! Thank you! And Tony?”

 

“Yeah?” 

“Congratulations.” She chirped, and hung up.

 

Tony stood in his greatroom. Well, hell. That was not how he planned this going.

 

* * *

 

Jamie was trying, and failing, to focus on his world political history reading when, for the second time in an hour, he was interrupted by a slamming door. This time immediately followed by Alma’s voice, high and excited, “Ohmygosh you guys you have to see this! It is the _grossest thing!_ ” she giggled. She was waving around her better tablet, grinning. “Signe! Signe come here, you’re so not going to believe this!” She dropped down next to Jamie on the couch and started a video that was already cued up as Signe joined them, leaning over the back of the couch. 

Jamie watched. It was just pop and Tony in the hallway outside pop’s place. They were walking away from the camera, not even talking. Then pop turned around and talked to Tony, “Have you always looked at me like that? Because if so, it’s pretty nuts we haven’t managed to figure this out before now.”

 

Jamie’s brow furrowed. What was he talking about? Tony said something about being polite that sounded distant and distracted. He looked at Alma, who looked fit to burst. Jamie looked back down at the screen just in time to see…

 

To see…

 

What was he looking at here.

 

“ _What?_ ” Signe squawked in his ear.

“I know!” Alma agreed.

“But-“ Signe tried again. 

“Right?!” Alma shouted.

 

Jamie was still trying to make sense of this as he saw pop make a grab for Tony’s butt. “Oh, geez!” he protested, holding the tablet further away and averting his eyes. “Alma, what the heck!?”

 

“I don’t know! I just scanned for movement in the hallways and this was the first thing that came up!” 

“But, this makes no sense! Since when-?” Signe sounded as shocked as Jamie.

 

“I have no idea. I’ve been watching the security feeds for, like, _ever_ and I’ve never seen them do anything before. Isn’t it the grossest thing ever?” She was absolutely gleeful.

 

“But, they _can’t_ have been.” Jamie protested again, ignoring a sound that must have been coming from Tony on the screen. “We’d have _known,_ ”  he insisted.

 

Alma shook her head, still grinning, nose wrinkled “Hey, I’m just reporting.” She turned her head towards the door to the workshop “PHIL! COME HERE! YOU HAVE TO SEE THIS!” She paused, watching the door “PHIL I SAW YOU WITH YOUR GLASSES ON LIKE FIFTEEN MINUTES AGO I KNOW YOU CAN SEE THIS I’M TOTALLY TALKING LOUD ENOUGH COME HERE YOU NEED TO SEE THIS!”

 

Jamie reached out, wishing he’d stopped her “Alma- don’t-“

 

But Phil was there at the door, grumpy and still a bit disheveled. “Crap, Alma, what? I’m working.”

 

“You _have_ to see this” Alma said, grabbing the tablet out of Jamie’s hands and rewinding the video.

 

Signe sounded scandalized “ _Alma_ -“

 

Jamie looked at Phil. How would Phil react? Jamie still didn’t even know what he thought about this. Other than that he wished he hadn’t seen …just…ew…

 

Alma bounced over to Phil and played the video. Phil didn’t take the tablet, just watched with detached irritation turning to confusion, then shock before finally he flinched away, just like Jamie had, with a nonverbal protest. He turned to Alma “What the shit is this?” he asked, just as dumbfounded as Jamie. 

“I don’t _know,_ ” Alma insisted “That’s why I had to show everybody. This was the first thing I got when I scanned for movement when I got into the tower security feed.”

 

“But…” Phil looked back at the screen, dubiously. He looked at Jamie, who shrugged, just as baffled, then Signe, who Jamie felt shrug. “…Scrull?” he hazarded.

 

Signe responded hesitantly “You mean one of them, or both?”

 

Phil tried again “Or…life model decoys? Robots? Alternate dimension versions of themselves?”

 

Jamie rubbed his face, trying to ground his mind. “Same thing. One of them, or both of them? Because they both seemed…to be…uhm…participating…so…it would have to be both of them? And why would robots…uh…” 

“Make out,” Alma supplied.

 

“Right.” Jamie agreed, pathetically.

 

“Do scrull make out?” Signe wondered aloud. “I would think that would be too much of a security risk.”

 

Alma rolled her eyes. “Are we seriously considering imposters? Because the scrull thing was forever ago. Jarvis knows how to detect them. And robots.”

Which was actually a comfort. Tony and pop doing… _stuff_ was disconcerting, but not nearly the way having their dads replaced by aliens would have been. “Yeah. You're right. So… that’s them, then.”

 

“Ohmygosh.” Alma stated again.

 

There was silence.

 

“I don’t approve,” Signe grumbled.  

Phil covered his eyes with one hand, irritated. “What the shit.”

 

“Aw, comeon.” Alma chimed in. “I mean… the making out thing was gross because… old people, ew. But… don’t you guys think it’s kind of cute?”

 

Phil dropped his hand, eyes scanning and catching up. He raised an eyebrow, looking at Alma. “Cute? How is _that_ cute?”

 

“Well…” Alma started, twisting one foot against the ground, a bit embarrassed “Well, them dating. I mean, they're best friends, right? And now they're dating, too. That’s cute. Aw, I bet they’ll be really good for each other.” She concluded, looking back down at the now frozen screen, fondly.

 

“Good for each other.” Signe scoffed, “They’ve done nothing but fight for the last year.”

 

“Well, they aren’t fighting now,” Alma retorted loftily.

 

She was right. They weren’t fighting. “Alma,” he said, she turned to look at him. He held out one hand, wishing he wasn’t. “Uh. Show me that again.” She handed him the tablet and he started the clip over. This was probably wrong and it was for sure an invasion of privacy but he’d already seen it and it was the _hallway_ , geez. He grimaced, but watched the clip, more carefully this time. On a second watching they were being… careful, gentle, and when they talked, pop at least looked… really happy. He paid attention to the words this time. “Hadn’t figured it out before.” Huh. So, this was something new, not something they’d been hiding for ages. That made sense. He watched as Tony pulled away, put his hand on pop's face. Paused the video, studying their expressions. He could see pop clearly, and Tony in partial profile. Everything about their expressions, gestures, body language... 

“Guys… I think they’re in love with each other.” He said, cautiously.  

“That’s gross,” Phil responded immediately.

 

Alma looked like she had just barely stopped herself from sticking her tongue out at him. “Oh, shut up, it is not. Old people in love is adorable. Except when they make out,” She amended. “That part’s gross.”

 

Signe was resting her head on her arms, watching over Jamie’s shoulder, focusing on the image. She seemed almost troubled. “I think… he’s right,” she concluded. “I wouldn’t have thought it possible.”

 

Jamie held out the tablet to Phil, image still frozen. He took it, looking critically, but his eyes softened a little. “Gross,” he reiterated, blandly. But he didn’t look away. Phil sighed, silently. He handed the tablet back to Jamie,  He shook off a thoughtful expression and straightened, “Well, it’s got nothing to do with me.”

 

Jamie’s eyebrows raised as Alma immediately countered. “Liar. Whatever. You love them. Don’t even pretend you don’t. You’re worried about them too. You're not that big of a jerk not to worry about your own parents.”

 

Phil jerked back a bit at Almas bluntness, but replied waspishly, “Of course I worry about them. But it’s not my business anymore. I’m not…in that…part of that whole…system, anymore. I removed myself. I _can’t_ -“ his voice cracked hard enough to hurt, and Phil felt it, pausing. “So don’t-“ he swallowed, and his voice wavered at the next part, “Don’t show me any more of those videos. It’s not my business. I removed myself.” 

Alma was shocked, and clearly upset. For once, she looked away, rather than use it to her advantage.

 Jamie let his utter confusion show. So Phil… admitted he was worried about them? But thought that somehow because he was moved out that he was outside the family now. What kind of sense was that supposed to make? “They’re still our parents,” he found himself saying.

 

“Are they?” Phil asked, his voice a little higher pitched than normal, and shaking slightly. “How’s that? Because I still have the name? Because we’re genetically related? That doesn’t mean shit. If I had a different name to change to, I would. I’m not a Stark now, or a Potts. I’ve got nothing to do with the company or with either of them." Phil shoved his hands in his pockets, already backing up a half a step. "Their lives aren't my business, and my life isn't theirs. If it weren't for you guys I wouldn't have anything to do with any of them."

Alma said what Jamie didn't quite dare. "But you _miss_ them! We all saw you with the doll, Phil. You know we did. And you called Tony your dad just a couple days ago!"

 

Jamie cringed as Phil turned bright red, backing away from them another step. No, Alma, too far. Phil was louder. "Shut up! It doesn't matter." Another step.

 

Jamie scooched forward on the couch. "You can't really think they aren't your family anymore..."

 

This time Phil was loud, gesturing broadly with one stiff arm. "Well that's what they think! I’m just a business rival now. None of them, _no one_ has emailed or called me since we got here." Another step, he'd bolt out of here in a second.

 

Jamie persisted. "They're just waiting a little bit. Letting everybody cool down-" That was what mom had told him, why she was calling Jamie instead of Phil. He was surprised Tony hadn't called yet, since he was obviously sober enough.

 

Phil shook his head. "Bullshit. Stop pretending things are going to go back to how they were. They won't. It's _over."_

 

Alma really did look ready to cry. For once, Phil hardly seemed to notice.

 

Signe was scrutinizing Phil. She stood, behind the couch. "You think they don't want you anymore?" Phil’s flinch confirmed it without him having to say anything. Signe shook her head. "Phil, that's madness. I could maybe believe Tony would reject you after this _,_ but not Ms. Potts, your mother would never-"

 

Phil’s voice was harsh and sarcastic. “Because parent's _never_ reject their kids." he sneered. "Fucking grow up." He pointed at Alma, "Banner ditched Alma." Alma looked up at him, really crying now. He pointed at Signe ,"And your mom didn't even want you on the same _planet_ as her once she found out what you were!" Signe looked like he'd slapped her in the face.

 

Jamie stood. This had to stop. "Phil!"

 

Phil glared back at him defiantly, his eyes were pink, shiny. His expression faltered, his eyes flicked to Signe, then to Alma, and the defiance fell away. He backed up another half step, closing his eyes and rubbing them behind his glasses. He looked at them both again. "Sorry. S-sorry." Jamie relaxed a little. That was the first apology he'd heard from Phil since all this started. Phil swallowed. "I just...I'll be in my workshop." He turned and all but fled the room. Jamie heard the deadbolt click home as he shut the door.

 

Jamie looked back at the girls. Signe was looking away, leaning tight, bluish fists on the back of the couch. Alma was looking down at the floor. God, what was Phil trying to do?

 

Almas voice was soft, but stubborn. "Dr. Banner didn't ditch me. He loves me."

 

Jamie was relived to hear it. When she was littler Alma seemed a lot more worried about that, less secure. "All the adults love you, you know that." Alma nodded sharply, still not looking up.

He looked back at Signe, who'd gone to her male form for some reason. Muscles in her arm were moving slightly. Her eyes were down, he couldn't tell their color. But the end emotion broadcast loud and clear anyways. Anger, at her mother, or Phil, or even Tony and mom. Her voice was low and tight. "He may be right." She looked up at Jamie and Alma. "Not about Doctor Banner, nor Ms. Potts, I'm sure." She stood, flexing her hands strangely at her sides. "But Tony? I could believe it. Phil is no longer the heir he was meant to be. And much as we'd like them to be, parents are not always so perfectly steadfast in their affection. We're all old enough to know better than that."

 

He tried to keep his voice strong. To sound like a leader. "No. Tony loves Phil more than anything. There's no way that's changed. He's Phil’s _dad_ and-"

 

Signe snapped. "He used to be as a father to you, too! Do you really not remember that? How he used to treat you as his own, before one day turning away from you? For _no reason_?"

 

Jamie watched her. He'd always had a vague sense that Tony avoided him, but..."Tony loves me," he said, surprising himself with calm conviction. He trusted that. Even when Tony had been digging into his shoulder, he'd been paralyzed more with guilt than with actual fear of Tony hurting him. Maybe not as a son, sure. Only Phil belonged to Tony. But Tony did love him.

 

Signe looked ready to argue, but stayed silent. He decided to push his luck. "Look, Signe, you told me you'd work on getting over your grudge with Tony. If you’re wrong, and Tony _does_ want to talk to Phil, do you want to be the one getting in the way of that? Look how much Phil needs him!"

 

"I said I will think on it," she snapped back.

 

"Well go think then," he snapped in return. No, he had to calm down. He took a slow breath. "You said you think he- Tony, loves pop. And me. There's no way he'd love us and not love Phil."

 

"I said he used to love you," she snarled quietly.

 

He didn't flinch, but Alma came to his defense anyways. "Stop. You're being as mean as Phil."

 

Signe didn't unclench, but she shifted posture, disengaging from the conversation. "I'm going for a run. I'll be back for dinner."

 

Jamie nodded. Best to let her go blow off some steam. Signe turned and left without another word.

 

Finally, he could look at Alma. She looked back down at him, worried. “Bapa loves me." she reiterated.

 

He smiled crookedly at her. "I know."

 

She flopped back on the couch. "I want to talk to him.”

 

He sat next to her. Jamie understood why Doctor Banner had left. How he'd wanted to protect Alma from the Hulk. He admired her loyalty in thinking of him after nobody had spoken to him in years. "I wonder what he'd think of pop and Tony," he mused.

 

She leaned her head back, looking up at the ceiling. "I dunno," she rolled her neck to look at him. "I think it's good though, don't you?"

 

"Yeah," he nodded. "At least, I hope so. It'd be nice for something good to happen finally."

 

She nodded, looking back up at the ceiling. There was a quiet moment. "If Captain Rogers and Tony get married, Phil would be your stepbrother _and_ your half brother."

 

And Tony would be his stepfather. Would that make Jamie a Stark? Jamie picked up his tablet. Studying now seemed unlikely, but he could give it a go. "He's already my brother, Alma. It doesn't matter."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments are my lifeblood. You can reach me here or on tumblr where I'm Constant-Instigator. I have an open askbox and take requests now and then. Many thanks to my bro Emily for her copyediting.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: contains passing mention of unhealthy underage sex with no discussion of the emotional content or consequences of said sex.

Tony’s first thought was that this wasn’t his bed, and oh boy that’d been a while. This bed was too hard and the pillow was too flat and the light seeping in through his eyelids was wrong, but it wasn’t a hospital bed. He opened his eyes, blinking a couple times to bring the world into focus, booting up his brain for the day. Sifting through memory and sensory information, he quickly put it together. 

 

 

 

This was _Steve’s bed_. And judging by the sunlight streaming in through the windows his little 8pm nap had not gone according to plan. Well, that was embarrassing. A small noise to his right attracted his attention and he turned. Well, yes, he guessed he should expect to find Steve in Steve’s bed in the morning. Tony sat up, taking in the view. If this had been some previous conquest of Tony’s and not Steve, he might have wondered if this was a setup - soft, romantic lighting through the curtains, Steve’s blankets pushed most of the way off of him, Steve himself sleeping on his back, showing off several of his better features. Like Tony, and probably most other significant heat producing people, Steve slept in his underwear- simple white boxers. It was like a pinup. He could get used to waking up to a view like this. 

 

 

 

It occurred to him that that was a real possibility. That this _could_ get to be like an everyday sort of thing. That sure as hell seemed to be what Steve had been getting at. Mister Commitment, over here. Who Tony had never seen date anyone but Pepper in twenty years.  Of course, if they were going to share a bed permanently they’d need a better mattress. Firm enough to be supportive for Steve’s weight but softer than this rock-hard thing….

 

 

 

He let his mind wander, designing spaces in his head. Tony’s place was half bare drywall still anyways, it wouldn’t be hard to renovate. Like Pepper, he still hadn’t really decorated after the attack on the tower. His homes had been in Architectural Digest several times over the years, but not recently. Combining his own style preferences with Steve’s was an interesting design challenge. Arci would be a hell of a news outlet to share the fact that they were dating with the world. The main problem would be in that Tony didn’t really want to give up any of the space he was accustomed to, but Steve would want rooms for the boys…

 

 

 

That exercise lost it’s appeal pretty quickly. 

 

 

 

He refocused on Steve himself. Considered putting his hands on Steve in some capacity. Looking him over, his attention shifted again. Steve was still sleeping, but he was frowning, brow drawn sharply down over closed eyes. His breathing was a bit labored, too, and his hands had clenched into twitching fists while Tony had been focusing on interior design. A nightmare? Might just be a dream about fighting. Those weren’t so bad. That did negate Tony’s half formed plan of waking Steve up with touch, though. If Steve thought he was fighting the good fight, it would be best not to startle him from this  close a range. 

 

 

 

Well, to hell with it. Even if Steve wasn’t having a nightmare, Tony wanted him to be awake. “Hey, Steve.” He didn’t need to raise his voice. Steve was a light sleeper and his eyes immediately flew open. He took in the sight of Tony with evident confusion. Tony waved. “Hi.”

 

 

 

“Hi.” Steve answered back, quickly glancing around the room, assessing the situation, checking for problems since he’d gone to sleep. Satisfied, his eyes went back to Tony. He smiled sheepishly, all boyish charm and more than half naked. “Hope I didn’t wake you.”

 

 

 

“Nope. Not a peep.” Tony answered. Steve made as if to sit up, but paused as Tony reached over, running fingers through his hair. Steve closed his eyes, tightness bleeding out of his shoulders. If he’d thought he was making noise, it probably was a nightmare. “The kids?” he guessed. Steve nodded. “You ok?” Another nod.

 

 

 

“Pretty much the same as I have been getting. I’m sure it’s going around.”

 

 

 

“Yep.” Tony agreed. Last night he was out solidly enough he didn’t remember any dreams. He’d always had fewer nightmares when he wasn’t sleeping alone. Even if Steve hadn’t come to bed for several hours, the whole room smelled like him. Apparently, that was enough. Which was sort of why, when Steve had offered Tony a bed for napping in Tony had bypassed the guestroom and the boys’ rooms in favor of this one. Not only less painful, but actually restful. He’d have to get Steve to go up and sweat on Tonys not-a-slab-of-concrete mattress at some point. 

 

 

 

He was a little startled at the hand tentatively touching his back. Steve was laying down still, with a quiet, hopeful question in his eyes. Tony was perfectly happy to oblige. Unfortunately, laying on his side was still not working out, but after a bit of shuffling Tony ended up on his back with Steve half curled around him. He had one arm under Tony’s neck, the other wrapped around his waist, which Tony laid his own arm over. Steve shut his eyes, relaxing against Tony with a slow, deep breath.  He didn’t open then when he spoke. “Is this…”

 

 

 

“More than fine.” Tony assured. Steve’s skin was slightly damp from sleep sweat, and judging by how warm the places they touched were, he’d be sweating for a while yet. The end effect was Steve’s skin being just a bit shiny, and the room being full of Steve scent. Yes, Tony could definitely get used to this. Tony was good at getting used to the finer things in life. He might be already used to this. Steve sighed again, pushing out a little more nightmare tension and pulling closer. Yep, Tony was used to it. This. He wanted this. Every morning, for the rest of time. 

 

 

 

They stayed that way a while. Eventually, Steve started absently stroking along Tony’s side with his thumb. It occurred to Tony that any signs of aging he’d been worried about hiding from Steve would be pretty effectively on display right now. None of them seemed to be making any damn bit of difference to Steve. Of course, they were snuggling, in their boxers, and Steve wasn’t making any move to get more physical. That was vaguely insulting. But then, Tony wasn’t doing anything in that realm either. So fair was fair. Better just to enjoy this. 

 

 

 

Steve’s voice was soft. “Worried about telling the kids today?”

 

 

 

Tony tensed, he couldn’t help it. That got Steve’s attention enough to make him open his eyes. With everything happening, they couldn’t do this if either of the boys really, strongly objected. He knew he was in the clear with Alma. Signe hated him generally, so his inevitable objection didn’t count. But if the boys really couldn’t tolerate this, they’d have to call it off. They couldn’t risk anything else driving them away. 

 

 

 

Steve curled around him tighter, close enough Tony could feel his breath tickling his neck. “Ok. Glad it’s not just me.” They lay that way for what seemed like a much longer span than the previous, comfortable, lazy moment. Tony was already used to this. He wanted with a fierceness bordering on need to keep it. But not as much as he needed to keep the kids from cutting him off completely. He’d been too chicken-shit to call Phil so far and the pain of not seeing him kept getting worse. Even when he could manage to focus on something else for a while - boom - it would be back again, sucker punching him.

 

 

 

Today he stood a chance to get into a fight with and alienate Phil, piss off and alienate Jamie, who Tony couldn’t blame at all if he didn’t like Steve getting all romantic with Tony, and potentially lose Steve, too. At least, in this capacity. Fuck, today might hurt. 

 

 

 

He realized he’d gone to bed without taking his painkillers last night. His clavicle ached and throbbed discontentedly to itself. Distantly painful, but easily manageable for Tony. The drugs would be fully clear of his system by now. 

 

 

 

He didn’t have any booze at the moment, but that was easy enough to remedy. If today completely imploded, he’d have that to fall back on. 

 

 

 

No. No wait, he’d told them he wouldn’t 

 

 

 

He looked over at what he could see of Steve at this angle. His shoulder was just healed enough that he could use his bad arm to reach over and run fingers through Steve’s hair again. Tony could indulge in a hell of a binge today without shutting down his liver, and it would do a good job of numbing whatever pain the day might bring. But even if they ended today back as friends, not lovers, Steve would freak right the fuck out at that. Worrying about Tony and scared for his safety, and probably he’d come up to try to help and Tony would just make an ass of himself and Pepper would worry when he’d already put her through so much this month and right after everyone had just been confirming wanting to stick around …

 

 

 

Fuck. No drinking then. 

 

 

 

And there was no point in pretending he could just drink a bit. If today went south and he drank a little, he’d find a way to get his hands on a lot more. 

 

 

 

Tony sighed. Fucking Steve. Fucking…family that he loved. Fine. No drinking, for their sakes. “I love you, you know.” He said. There might have been just a touch of resentment in his voice. Steve had always had a habit of making people want to be better just by being around. Being in love with Steve…ok, _knowing_ he was in love with Steve, and that Steve loved him, might just make Tony into a goddamn angel.

 

 

 

Steve shifted, turning to he could look at Tony. He must have read Tony’s tone because his expression was bemused, questioning. Damn, those lips. “I love you, too.” He answered. A simple statement of fact. No hesitance, no underlying request. Just plain, unadorned truth. Tony melted a little. He could see Steve pick up on that, because the grin was back. Not quite as radiant as yesterday, before they’d really thought about how badly today's conversation could go, but bright and real nonetheless. 

 

 

 

To hell with it, if he might lose this this afternoon he would grab whatever he could get while he had the access. He pulled Steve over and down for the steamiest kiss he could manage. Steve almost seemed confused for a second, bless his heart, then shifted around, supporting himself on one arm and half laying on Tony. Tony pulled his good arm out from between them and pulled again, arranging one his his legs between Steve’s. Damn it, Steve went up on his knees, leaning over Tony, barely any skin touching except where their lips met. Probably trying not to crush Tony but whatever, that was not Tony’s priority right now. He got an arm around Steve’s torso and tugged downwards again. _Come on,_ they were in their boxers already. Thin layers of already slightly sweaty clingy cotton. This was no time to be timid. 

 

 

 

This time Steve took the damn hint, carefully lowering himself flush with Tony, almost completely bare skin-to-skin contact, and the fabric that was involved left very little to the imagination. _Hell fucking yes_. He felt Steve shiver, then gasp. Steve broke away the kiss, turning his head and taking slow, careful breaths, as if trying to keep himself from being overwhelmed. Very gratifying. Tony hadn’t even done anything yet. Yeah, he was pretty sure worrying about being too old to be attractive to Steve was going to be a waste of mental space at this point, and cheerfully dismissed the worry. 

 

 

 

Instead, he focused on finding that spot on Steve’s neck again that had produced all the quiet gasping and squirming. Squirming would be good about now. Steve’s hand tightened on Tony’s side, pressing flat, then kneading at the muscle. Steve tilted as if to go for Tony’s neck, then he stopped.

 

 

 

Sudden cold air hit Tony’s chest as Steve withdrew - not far, just up on hands and knees over him again. His chest was heaving, an entrancing rhythm of expansion and contraction. Tony tried to follow, but couldn’t leverage himself up on both elbows fast enough, wincing as he tried without thinking. Steve’s voice was breathy and low. “Tony, wait.”

 

 

 

No. No waiting. He might only have a few hours before he lost this. He wanted to fill every minute of that possible with sweaty, sweet, affectionate, gorgeous, and ideally naked, Steve. 

 

 

 

No, wait, Steve was right. Tony kicked his brain back on. “Yeah. Ok. Supplies, right? Do you have them or do I need to run upstairs quick?” He didn’t really want to put on pants, but he’d make that sacrifice if need be. He wasn’t completely sure what he’d need, but he’d be best served covering the basics.

 

 

 

“Supplies?” Steve looked at him blankly. He seemed more than a little overwhelmed. 

 

 

 

Tony raised his eyebrows. Ok, obviously Steve wasn’t a virgin, and Natasha had more than hinted that Steve had been with a guy before but Tony realized belatedly he had no idea about the content of that previous encounter. He tried not to sound judgy. “Lube…condom? You know,…supplies?”

 

 

 

Steve’s eyes deflected off to the side, clearly embarrassed. “I…have lube here.” 

 

 

 

Tony didn’t know why that should be embarrassing but whatever.  He kept his voice patient. “Ok. Condoms?”

 

 

 

Steve looked down at him, worried and maybe a little hurt. “Why would we need those?”

 

 

 

Tony looked at Steve. Steve looked back. Generations collided. 

 

 

 

Steve’s worry turned to alarm, he touched Tony’s side, gently. “Are you… do you…”

 

 

 

Whoops, he’s scared the supersoldier. “What? No, I’m fine.” _Because I always use a condom_ went unsaid. 

 

 

 

Steve relaxed again. That was kind of adorable. As if he couldn’t get at Tony’s medical records if he wanted. “Well, I’m all clear, so…”

 

 

 

Tony kept staring at him. This hadn’t occurred to him. But yes, ok, in a completely monogamous relationship with no chance of pregnancy and no previously acquired issues… a condom wouldn’t be _strictly_ necessary. But he’d had very little unprotected sex since the very early 90s when he’d occasionally been too out of his head on something or other to notice till the next day. He’d been lucky he survived that period in his life. Then there was Pepper, but even with the two of them they’d been together for ages before they got to that point. 

 

 

 

Before he could work this idea to it’s full conclusion, Steve sighed, sitting back on his knees and no longer hovering over him. “We should talk.”

 

 

 

What? No. “I had something sweatier in mind.” Tony said, finally getting himself upright. 

 

 

 

“Yeah.” Steve answered, clearly affected by the suggestion. Again, gratifying. “Got that. But this first, ok?”

 

 

 

Tony choked down a frustrated noise. They didn’t have time for this. “What’s to discuss? I love you, you love me, there is a clear reciprocation of hormones, so lets just get to it while we can.”

 

 

 

Steve frowned. No. Frowning was not where this was supposed to be going. Steve should be moaning by now, grinding, maybe. “While we can? Are we in a hurry for some reason?”

 

 

 

This conversation needed to make sense or just stop happening so Tony could go back to having Steve up against him. Ideally the latter. He moved forward. “Look, if this all implodes this afternoon, I want to have…at least once.” And Steve should get that. That was a major plot point of most of his generation’s movies; compressed romances while they could happen. 

 

 

 

Steve searched his face. “Oh.” He put a hand on Tony’s good shoulder. He was starting to look a little too tender. Radiating sincerity, the true weakness of any cynic. Tony’s personal kryptonite. “I don’t …it won't come to that. If theres a problem, we’ll figure it out. Maybe hold off a few months, but I’m not letting this go. I don’t think Jamie would ask me to. And I …honestly don’t think Phil would care that much. I’ve waited this long, I’m not going to have you for less than two days. I need you.”

 

 

 

Tony swallowed. Hard to argue with that. And with those earnest blue eyes looking steadily into his. “Do you practice that? That whole so-sincere-it-hurts thing? That is weaponizable. It should probably be regulated by the U.N. or something. You must practice that.”

 

 

 

Steve smiled. “Let’s not have any other governmental agencies trying to figure out how to regulate me, please.”

 

 

 

Tony smiled. Steve had a real way with getting past Tony’s defenses. Lucky for Tony he used his powers for good. “So, what, then? What is this urgent thing we need to talk about instead of me getting my hands on you?”

 

 

 

The earnest clarity and steadfastness evaporated, and Steve scrubbed at his face, all awkwardness. “Ah. About the sex. We should probably talk about that.”

 

 

 

“What, dirty talk? Sure thing, gorgeous. I didn’t know you were into that. Bring it on.”

 

 

 

Steve was plainly mortified. “That’s not what I-“ he paused, looking at Tony’s grin. “You’re messing with me.”

 

 

 

“Uh-huh.”

 

 

 

Steve sighed, dropping his hand and glaring with a fond sort of exasperation. “Please stop that. I’m embarrassed enough as it is. Don’t confuse me.”

 

 

 

“Say your thing then.”

 

 

 

“I just…uhm. Think we should talk about…boundaries.” 

 

 

 

Tony raised an eyebrow. “Did you watch a video about this or something?”

 

 

 

“It was a blog.”

 

 

 

“Uh-huh.”

 

 

 

“It made a lot of sense, though. That making things really clear ahead of time would be…good. Cut down on misunderstandings.”

 

 

 

“Ok.”  This right here, this was adorable. 

 

 

 

Steve glared at him halfheartedly. “You’re laughing at me.”

 

 

 

“I didn’t make a peep.”

 

 

 

“You’re laughing at me internally.” 

 

 

 

“Maybe a little.”

 

 

 

“I’m being serious, Tony.”

 

 

 

“You’re being _adorable,_ Steve.” Another adorable glare. Poor little darling had probably never had to have one of these before. Tony could do these in his sleep. “It’s fine. Quit being a pansy about it. Just name your terms.”

 

 

 

Steve suppressed a sigh. “It’s not about…it’s about _both_ our boundaries.”

 

 

 

“Steve, darling.” Tony put a hand on Steve’s. He enjoyed being able to use all these pet names unironically. “You won’t come within a hundred miles of my boundaries. I’m pretty sure. So just tell me what you want and don’t want, and we’ll make it happen.” Steve hesitated, watching Tony.  “Feel free to be graphic.” He added. 

 

 

 

Steve rolled his eyes. He still looked legitimately nervous. He was looking everywhere not Tony. “Well, for one thing, I’m pretty attached to monogamy.” Tony raised an eyebrow. Steve misinterpreted, and tried to cover a flash of pain. “I told you before I couldn’t do a fling and for me that - “ Tony interrupted...

 

 

 

“Let me cut you off there, before you give yourself palpitations. Yes, I assumed this would be a monogamous thing. I’m actually perfectly good at that in the confines of an actual relationship. I have been a slut, but not so much a cheater. Ok?”

 

 

 

“Or a swinger?”

 

 

 

Tony outright laughed. “You are the cutest fucking thing. Where do you even learn these words? There’s no way I’m letting anyone else lay a hand on you.”

 

 

 

Steve looked embarrassed. As well he should. “Ok. Sorry.”

 

 

 

And because Steve asked, instead of accused, and because Steve just took his word for it after that, it didn’t sting. “It’s fine. I understand the confusion. What, did you run across one of those old threesome videos of me on YouTube from back in the day?” it was meant to be a joke, but Steve’s eyes went round, and his head snapped to the side. 

 

 

 

Oh, _no way_. “You did! Steven Grant Rogers you watched one of my sex tapes!” he was grinning ear to ear. “You perv! I didn’t know you had it in you!”

 

 

 

Steve groaned, putting his hands over his face. “Not intentionally! I didn’t understand the Internet yet! You were in handcuffs! I was _worried!_ ”

 

 

 

That was just too much. Just when he thought Steve couldn’t get any more precious. Tony started laughing. After a couple seconds, Steve dropped his hands and started laughing too. 

 

 

 

Once he’d caught his breath, he moved closer again. “Did you watch the whole thing?”

 

 

 

Steve ducked his head. Confirmation. Tony grinned. “Oh, my poor baby. I bet you even felt guilty about it.” Steve smiled at him, sheepishly. “I can’t take it. How do you even exist? Captain Rogers, I hereby give you a guilt free pass to jerk off to any thoughts about me you want, and any videos you can find. Really, go nuts. It’s only fair. Just don’t neglect the real me in the mean time, ok?”

 

 

 

“I can’t believe I’m having this conversation.”

 

 

 

“You started it.”

 

 

 

Steve smiled at him. “You’re really easy to talk to when you want to be.”

 

 

 

Tony wrapped an arm around him. “Then just tell me what you want already, so I can agree and we can move from theory to practice.”

 

 

 

Steve scooched back, removing Tony’s arm. “Now quit that, I can’t think right when you do that.”

 

 

 

So tempting. But he should probably not go pushing boundaries _during_ the boundaries discussion at least, and poor Steve did seem to be having some trouble with this. Damn his repressive era. Tony sat back, waiting. 

 

 

 

Steve took a steadying breath, and continued. “I uhm. I guess I’m what you’d call ‘vanilla’”

 

 

 

“You don’t say.”

 

 

 

“You guessed?”

 

 

 

“Also Pepper warned me. Incidentally, how do you manage to still be perpetually a couple decades behind on slang? ‘Swinger’? ‘Vanilla’? You really have no excuse anymore.”

 

 

 

Steve closed his eyes briefly against a doubtless wave of embarrassment. “It’s a dad skill. I’m supposed to be out of date on slang. Not my fault you do it wrong.” He cleared his throat. “So I’m not really into handcuffs or … or any of that.”

 

 

 

“Steve, honeybear, do me a favor?”

 

 

 

“What’s that?”

 

 

 

“Stop looking so damn nervous. It’s fine. If you don’t want to do something, we won’t. I will adapt. I’m good at that.”

 

 

 

“And…what about what you want, then?”

 

 

 

“What I want” Tony moved back towards Steve “Shockingly enough, is you.” This time Steve didn’t scooch away. “What I _really_ want is for you to be able to just tell me what you like and don’t like, in the moment, so I don’t have to worry you won’t say ‘stop’ when you don’t like what I’m doing. Because that” he put a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “Would let me improvise. Experiment, try things out I think you’ll like. Because, I’m gonna go out on a limb here and guess that you haven’t actually had all _that_ much sex, am I right?”

 

 

 

“Uhm.” Steve was starting to look overwhelmed again, but not displeased. Pupils expanding, eyes fixed on Tony. “Probably not by your standards.”

 

 

 

“Fair qualifier. But I have, even by my standards. And I have…47 years worth of ideas I’d like to try out with you.” Steve smirked at the number. “But I can only do that if you can communicate in the moment with me, ok? I promise not to try anything too off-the-wall without warning, and that if you say you don’t like something, whatever it is, it stops, ok? No matter how ‘vanilla’ I think it is.”

 

 

 

The overwhelmed look was replaced by affection. Which was, impossibly, even hotter. “Ok.”

 

 

 

“Does that satisfy whatever bullet point list this blog had for you?”

 

 

 

“I think I was also supposed to ask you how many partners you’ve had.” Steve smirked, clearly only half paying attention to the conversation at this point.

 

 

 

“Fuck, I hope not. I lost count of that number somewhere in the mid 80s.”

 

 

 

Steve chuckled, it sounded a little pained. Tony reached for him, placing a hand along Steve’s neck. Steve started to melt a bit, but then his attention went inwards, calculating. “Wait, mid 80s?”

 

 

 

Oops. “Steve, baby, don’t do that math. I don’t often say this, but that’s bad math. Leave it alone.”

 

 

 

“But you were-“

 

 

 

“I know.”

 

 

 

“You sure you don’t mean late 80s? Or 90s, maybe?”

 

 

 

“You can pretend I did if that would help.”

 

 

 

“O...kay.” Steve looked uncomfortable. 

 

 

 

“Why, do you know your number?”

 

 

 

Steve’s voice was deliberately neutral. “Eight.”

 

 

 

Tony gaped at him. “Eight?”

 

 

 

Steve looked at him sideways. “I can’t tell if you’re shocked because you think it’s low or high. It’s pretty much average.”

 

 

 

Tony wasn’t sure either. On the one hand, to him that sounded really low. On the other, Tony only knew about _one_ of them, so who the hell were the other seven? “How many…in the 40s?”

 

 

 

“…None.”

 

 

 

Tony paused again. So all eight were since Tony had known him. “ _Captain_ , what kind of a double life have you been living?”

 

 

 

“No double life! Just…y’know…a guy gets…lonely. You're hardly in a position to cast stones here, Tony.”

 

 

 

“No, no. No stone casting. Just…you dated seven people since I’ve known you without telling? I’m kind of shocked here.”

 

 

 

Steve was trying not to look embarrassed, bless him. “Not…dated.”

 

 

 

“One night stands! First porn and now this. What would America think?” Steve rolled his eyes. “Wait, hold on. So…how many _times_ have you had sex? Total.” He would know this. Steve would totally know an exact number.

 

 

 

Steve only hesitated a second. “14.”

 

 

 

Tony’s eyes widened. That was an unreasonably low number. And most of that would have had to be Pepper, sixteen years ago. Numbers like that should not happen to people like Steve. That was a tragedy. Then again, Tony had figured Steve led a pretty sexless life. It shouldn’t really be surprising. Still. “That is tragic. Oh, you poor man. Ok, boxers off. Come on. This can not stand.”

 

 

 

Steve laughed. “I don’t need your pity sex, Stark.” He said, moving away when Tony reached for his boxers. 

 

 

 

“Yep. Pity. That is exactly what’s going on here.” Tony said, trying again for the waistband. “That is certainly the only reason...“ This was hard with only one hand fully operational. He tried to use his suboptimal hand, but it had less low-pain motion range. On the other hand, Steve was a lot more hesitant about batting it away. 

 

 

 

Tony moved closer, leading with his injured shoulder. Steve laughed, glaring and trying to dodge. “That’s cheating.”

 

 

 

“Thats tactics, Captain Bleeding Heart.”

 

 

 

Steve laughed again, trying to move away, but not bothering to stand up, staying just inside Tony’s reach. Tony half lunged, and managed to catch him around the waist with his good arm. He couldn’t actually pull Steve forward, so it was more that he yanked himself flush against Steve. He hooked just his thumb on the back of Steve’s boxers. “Talk over?”

 

 

 

Steve’s breath caught. He swallowed, then nodded, mutely. Tony grinned, and pulled him down to resume the kiss that had been broken by some damn blog article from a decade ago. This time Steve wrapped both arms around him, and nudged forward his thigh just a bit between Tony’s. Tony scraped a thumbnail lightly just inside the waistband, no longer in any particular hurry. It still made Steve shiver. Oh, this was going to be so much _fun_.

 

 

 

The phone rang.  It was Jamie’s ringtone.

 

 

 

Tony hung his head back as they broke apart. “I hate everything. That’s it. I’m going supervillain. That’s all a man can take.”

 

 

 

Steve moved back over to reach across for his phone on the nightstand, stretching arms, back, and ass right in Tony’s grabbing range. Unfair. He picked it up without answering, and looked back at Tony. “I really have to…”

 

 

 

Tony didn’t throw himself back on the bed melodramatically in protest, but mostly for his shoulder’s sake. “Yeah. Yeah, I get it.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose. 

 

 

 

“It’s…usually a vid call…”

 

 

 

Which meant answering while Tony was behind him, in bed, in his boxers, with a halfie, would kinda be a dead giveaway. “Yeah.” He leaned over, kissed Steve’s hair. “I get it. Say hi to him for me, ok? I’ll get dressed in the bathroom. Fuck, what time is it?”

 

 

 

“8am. I’ll see you before we leave for the kids’ condo, ok?”

 

 

 

Tony nodded, snagging clothes off the end of the bed. He was feeling a little chased out, but it was only for today, and it was important, so it would be fine. Steve said they’d work it out. So it would get worked out. Before then he could probably work in a shower, and one additional awful conversation he needed to have but wouldn’t feel up to after this afternoon.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Pepper laid back against the couch. This, next to dinner, was her worst time of the day. She couldn’t relax into her morning rituals or routine without acute awareness of Jamie’s absence, and anticipating the absence of the other kids over breakfast.  Every little sound had her glancing up at the unpainted hallway to the two empty bedrooms. She hadn’t actually managed to make herself eat breakfast yet. 

 

 

 

She reminded herself she’d see the kids this afternoon, in just a few hours. Deep breath. At least, now, she felt a little more able to call the others if she felt she needed to.

 

 

 

She closed her eyes, thankful again of having taken the week off, and thinking wistfully of retirement. She probably could have retired already, except that whenever she considered it she remembered Obadiah. She trusted the people under her, but couldn't stand the thought of putting her son in the position Tony had been in, of having to take the company over from a regent who would already be used to running things their own way.

 

 

 

The knock on the door was welcome. She lifted her head. “Come in?” 

 

 

 

To her mild surprise, it was Tony, despite the early hour. Back in his sling, freshly showered. He looked nervous, and was fidgeting with his sling a little. “Hey.”

 

 

 

“Hi.” She couldn’t resist a slight raise of her eyebrows. “Have a good night?”

 

 

 

He gave her a little _really?_ smirk, but seemed to recognize it as a more or less supportive gesture on her part. Then he gave a small eyebrow shrug. “I passed out at like 8, just woke up about 20 minutes ago.”

 

 

 

She tisked. “That’s wasteful.”

 

 

 

He laughed quietly, treading over to stand behind the couch. “How do you know I - Well, no, 20 minutes would be on the short side.”

 

 

 

“Especially for Steve.” She commented calmly. Odd conversation aside, not being alone was definitely better right now.

 

 

 

“Noted. This is going to get weird, isn’t it?”

 

 

 

“We passed ‘weird’ decades ago. This?” She turned to him, nervous, hurting, but fundamentally holding together. “This really does seem to be good for you both.” 

 

 

 

Ok, maybe she was a little jealous. Not of dating either of them, though. God, no.

 

 

 

But now they both had someone to go to. An obvious primary support. She was, maybe, a little jealous of that. 

 

 

 

But there was some consolation in the way Tony didn’t even try to hide how much her “blessing” meant to him.  He fidgeted with the sling again, looked away, then back at her. He rallied, and his voice started with the arrogant, detached tone he used when he was overwhelmed, the same voice he used when he'd brought her strawberries her first week working as CEO for SI, but slowly started to take on a desperate edge. "Ok, look. I love this whole 'togetherness' thing we have going here all of a sudden,  but I can only take so much emotional rollercoastering in a 24 hour period and I've pretty much hit my limit. But I still need to talk to you, so can we please just agree to do this in whatever way minimizes the whole...touchy feely stuff or the you-yelling-at-me part for today? Because honestly I'm just at my limit right now, and it's 8am and I haven’t even talked to Phil yet.” She looked at him, more than a little skeptical and letting it show. “See? That's the face that leads the the voice I'm talking about here."

 

 

 

He came around the couch to sit next to her. “Just, I realised during brunch yesterday I never talked to _you_ about what happened between Jamie and me. I talked to Steve and I talked to Jamie, but not to you. But you’re his mom, and I should have. Really should have. Only I wish I wasn't doing it right now because _seriously_ Pepper you know how good I am with deep, meaningful conversations, especially ones when I need to apologize and I am _exhausted_ from everything else going on but it didn't seem right to keep putting it off any more, now that I've noticed."

 

 

 

Guilt and anger and pain rose up in her. _Oh._

 

 

 

She should have sought Tony out to talk about this before now. But…no, let him take that responsibility. He should have sought her out before now. "So...this is an apology?"

 

 

 

He wasn’t doing a very good job at keeping his own voice calm. “That’s exactly what Steve said. and honestly I _don't even know_. Because right now I have way too much to apologize for and no idea how to even start. I am sorry and that...that should go without even saying, right? You tolerate me. You love me, so you must not think I'm so bad I wouldn't be sorry. But Pepper, I am _completely_ in over my head. And I'm trying not to get so tired of trying to figure this out that I just brush it off because I know that’s unacceptable. But, honestly, no idea how to proceed here. This is the kind of thing I always rely on you for, but this time that won’t work. But I knew I needed to talk to you. Again. Even though you already look like you've been through the ringer." He stopped his fairly desperate sounding ramble, looking at her more carefully. "Should I not have done this today?"

 

 

 

Tony Stark, legendary charmer, ladies and gentlemen.

 

 

 

He took her lack of immediate reply as a reason to continue. "I don't even actually know what Jamie told you. What you know about what happened. Obviously, you know something, but...if Jamie told you, I'm not sure he...well, no offense to you and Steve and your parenting but that kid is way too forgiving. Did you know he helped me get to the ER that day? That is ridiculous. Maybe Signe wouldn't be so damn protective if he wasn't so forgiving. No, shit, now I sound like I'm blaming him. I'm not. I'm grateful. Very thankful. Shit, Pepper." He put his hand over his eyes and leaned his head back. "No, I know i'm fucking this up. I'm just honestly over my limit for heartfelt communication right now, and I still have to talk to Phil and… can I at least get some points in my favor for trying?"

 

 

 

She watched him, silently, head to the side. He looked at her with painful, genuine regret. "I'm fucking this up, aren't I."

 

 

 

She really probably should talk to him about this. God knew she’d gone over what she wanted to say - well, shout - at him about it. But at the end of the day Jamie didn’t seem scared or upset by it, and she was tired and just wanted to see her kids. Maybe she’d have more of an opinion when she saw how Jamie reacted to Tony now. "Yes." she said simply.

 

 

 

"Sorry." He shifted, one hand over his chin, legs crossing, pulling tight against himself and looking away.

 

 

 

She sunk against the couch, resting the side of her head on it’s back. Her voice was softer than she meant it to be. “I know." He looked back at her, assessing her face after hearing her voice. He quirked the corner of his mouth up in an apologetic smile. "But yes, you can get a couple points for trying. We'll have this talk a different day when I have the energy to be angry enough for it, ok? I'm tired, too." 

 

 

 

He untwisted himself marginally. “I really am sorry." he reiterated, with emphasis, still watching her.

 

 

 

"I know. We'll do this another day." He untwisted a little more. It was gratifying, somehow, how much he relaxed at her tone, and how much tension he kept, from his own guilt.

 

 

 

He closed his eyes, turning his face towards the floor. "Really don't know why you're all staying."

 

 

 

"You don't have to understand it." She reached out, barely thinking about it, to run a hand through his hair, flattening it. She’d never really understood it either. But after all this time, she trusted it. And after yesterday, trusting it was a little easier. Less painful, at least. She’d always known she’d fight not to leave him, not to lose him, this incredible, flawed man she’d spent so much of her life on. It was only ever a matter of how painless she could make it, and what form that relationship would take. He closed his eyes, relaxing into the touch. “Tony?” His eyes opened again, all attention on her. “Why did you make Jamie a weapon?”

 

 

 

He lifted his head. For this, he didn’t seem conflicted. Just really focused on wanting her to understand. “I wanted him to feel safer. Well, _be_ safer. From anything. Or at least anyone. But really, it’s just tranq darts. I didn’t give him anything he’d have to second guess using. Or having used. I just wanted him to have something he could just use, whenever he felt like he had to. He’s got a good head on his shoulders, if he thinks someone should be unconscious, they probably should be. I know you don’t like him having weapons but...“

 

 

 

“It’s ok.” she interrupted him. “It’s ok. It’s…a good choice. I’m not mad about it.” It wasn’t a perfect solution. She understood the effort. It was the kind of thing that would make Tony feel better, if he’d been in Jamie’s shoes. It was the best he knew how to do, and Jamie likely understood what it meant. And Tony was clearly more frightened by the experience than Jamie had been. Tony relaxed a little more.  "I'm not letting you off easy, you know. We _will_ have this talk and you're not going to enjoy it."

 

 

 

He pushed himself awkwardly to his feet,  “As it should be." he agreed stiffly.

 

 

 

"And Tony, if you _ever_ do something like that again..." She had the energy for this, at least, a small warning shot she mostly believed was unnecessary.

 

 

 

He smirked at her. "Sorry, Pep. You can't scare me on that count." She bristled slightly, ready to argue, she'd find the energy if she needed it. "If I fuck up like that again there won't be enough left of me for you to ruin. Between me, Signe, and Steve I won't last long enough."

 

 

 

And she flinched, which she didn't mean to do. "That’s macabre.” she said  disapprovingly. He smiled affectionately at her wince. "And don't say that about...about Steve." He just smiled at her again. And this was too much for her right now. Why did Tony have to take the conversation there? She was going to go do a crossword or something and not think about anything for a while. 

 

 

 

He gave her a smile that was probably trying to be apologetic but was a little too fond. “Pep?”

 

 

 

She sighed, easily loud enough for him to hear. “Yes?”

 

 

 

“Am I taking good enough care of you?”

 

 

 

The question caught her off guard. He’d asked her that once before that she could think of, back when they’d been married. The answer had been ‘no’, but she’d lied, told him she was fine. It hadn’t been his fault, not really. It was just the stress of being married to Iron Man, with all that that entailed. Just occasionally she wondered what would have happened if she’d told him the truth that time. But if she was honest with herself, she didn’t actually like heart to heart conversations much more than Tony did. She didn’t really care to describe how fractured she was feeling. She hesitated, licking her lips. “I wouldn’t mind a little company.”

 

 

 

He blinked at her and then very carefully lowered himself back down onto the couch, watching for signs that he’d misinterpreted. He hadn’t. Once he was seated and she hadn’t signaled to him he’d got it wrong, he seemed to relax. He studied her, looking her over. It was uncomfortable. She wasn’t used to that from him. He nodded at where she had one hand looped around her ankles. “Fix your nails for you.’ He offered.

 

 

 

She looked down and yes, they were chipped. She’d had them done less than a week ago but she’d been careless and sluggish and the paint was cracked in places. She looked back up at him. “You haven’t done that since we were married.”

 

 

 

He shrugged. “Think I can remember how it goes. Not that complicated. Besides, I don’t think Steve would get jealous. He’s never once asked me to help him get his right hand or his little toe for him.”

 

 

 

She smiled.  She doubted Steve knew Tony was good with manicures. He was good with most any precise, fine-motor-skills related activity. Pepper actually had no problem painting with her left hand, but she’d loved watching him bend his head over her hand, holding it carefully and paying attention in the ways he knew how. She’d found it romantic at the time. But Pepper wasn’t really one much for romance. This time, it wasn’t romance, and somehow it felt more valuable for it. “Thank you. I’d like that.”

 

 

 

He smiled, pushing himself back up. “Name your color. I’ll get the supplies.”

 

 

 

“How about the ‘Spice’.”

 

 

 

He nodded, heading towards her rooms. “Spice it is.”

 

 

 

She watched his disappear down the bare white hallway “Jarvis, cue up something mindless for me to watch, that Tony won't complain about too much.”

 

 

 

"Of course, Ms. Potts.” Jarvis's calm voice responded immediately. The screen flicked on, some ancient black and white movie she half remembered seeing before. She relaxed into the couch, and let herself think about nothing.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Phil closed his email. He'd got a message from Hammer that morning, one with a lot of words like "expectations" and "results" that made him feel sick to his stomach.  Phil needed to deliver. Hammer was putting together a team for him to work with, and the company lab space would be done within a week. Hammer had already hired a neurology consultant, “L” who'd be working remotely and send him their data. Something about that, that he couldn't quite put his finger on, made him uncomfortable. 

 

Phil had slid back into a near constant state of panic that might actually have been worse than before his attempt. He hadn't slept at all last night, between worry about failing at his only decent option, guilt at what he'd said to Signe and Alma, and a wrenching sensation of loneliness and rejection. Then he’d woken up to this. 

 

He’d been bothered that nobody had called, of course he had been. But now...with dad getting together with Steve...maybe even falling in love…

 

Phil hadn't gotten out of the tower before things fell apart.

 

Things had stopped falling apart because Phil had left the tower.

 

He knew mom and dad divorced over him, but that was years ago, and he'd always taken it at face value that it had been a security thing. That's what they said. But what if that wasn't true? What if the reason everything had been falling apart in the tower was him? His brokenness, his painful failed attempts to fix himself, before that, his existence. As soon as he was gone, they seemed to be doing better. What if he had always been at the center of the problem? 

 

Bruce had been the first to leave, and he’d spent a lot of his time around Phil. 

 

He’d tried to convince himself, before, that it was better for everyone if he wasn't around. Now that he was getting convinced, he wanted nothing more than to stop believing. 

 

Now, if he tried to go home, he'd know what he was doing to all of them, even if he didn’t know why or how. Whether it’d been his whole life, of just the past two months. Which meant, other than this, other than dealing with that twat Hammer, he didn’t have anyplace to go. 

 

He’d wondered once where minions came from. Those scrambling and generally incompetent losers that every bad guy seemed to have a few dozen of. Natasha had told him they were just “desperate people” but Phil hadn’t been able to imagine being that desperate. Now, he didn’t have to.

 

He could go get a different job. He was smart, even if he was broken. You didn’t have to be a paragon to hold down a job.  He could just be a regular employee someplace. Just disappear into the general sea of humanity, like Bruce had. In five years nobody would even remember that Tony Stark and Pepper Potts had had a son. Maybe he should change his name, fade into obscurity that much faster. Let himself be "that deaf guy in R&D" someplace. “Philip Johnson.” Fuck, if you took out every hero or genius reference from his name he’d need a whole new one. He’d end up “John Johnathan Johnson, that deaf guy in R&D.” Fan-fucking-tastic.

 

But what was the alternative? Be the Stark with no backup who couldn’t even hear you coming. 

 

He’d known he’d be alone.

 

But he’d really thought they’d call.

 

Hammer could give him enough money, enough protection to be worth something, while letting him stay out of the real limelight. 

 

**JAMIE: Phil?**

 

Phil turned, Jamie was standing at the doorway to the workshop. He looked hesitant, but hopeful. Phil hadn't come out for dinner last night. He couldn't remember if he ate or not, but he knew he hadn't talked to any of them since he'd said…

 

God damn, no wonder people were better off without him.

 

**JAMIE: Uhm. Wanted to let you know we're gonna have guests. The adults are here to see the place and pick up Alma. They're coming up the elevator now.**

 

Phil straightened. They were coming here? Maybe he could at least talk to them a little. Surely he wasn't so toxic he could damage the system with just a brief chat, right? As long as he didn't try to go home. "Who? Which ones?"

 

Jamie smiled, pleased at the response. **JAMIE: Everyone. All six of them. I'm guessing pop and Tony are going to tell us about them dating now.** For a moment Phil was excited. Everyone. If it really was all of them, then Tony was coming. If dad was there, he'd want to talk to Phil, right? He was the only one who really wouldn’t be there to talk to anyone else. Mom…maybe could be coming to talk to the others, but dad would be there to talk to him, and mom would be with him, and Steve and...

 

Then he realized that _all six of them_ meant he'd end up in the same position he'd been in the morning they'd left; scrambling to keep up and basically unable to communicate. Just like at the grocery store, but more intimately humiliating. If it'd been just one or two of them he'd have been alright, but with the whole crowd he'd be unable to do much but prove again what an abject failure he was. How much he didn’t belong with them, over on Mount Olympus.

 

No. No way. They weren't speaking to him as it was. The last thing he needed to do was show off all the ways he didn’t make the grade. He couldn’t afford to have them see him like this. If he could just…just fix himself fast enough, they’d never have to know how bad he’d gotten, how behind he was. Then maybe he could stand at their periphery without hurting anyone or calling attention to his toxicity. "I have work to do." he said, crossing over to where Jamie stood, just inside the door. 

 

Jamie looked shocked. **JAMIE: Oh come _on-_** he started, but Phil shook his head, trying to look resolute. He opened the door to the workshop, ushering Jamie out without another word. Signe stood up from the couch, frowning and confused. He gave Jamie’s shoulder one light shove to get him the rest of the way out of the workshop. 

 

 **SIGNE: Phil- what are you doing? Come out of there- they'll be here any moment! I know you want to see them!** That was the last thing he wanted to hear. And he didn't need Signe shouting it through the door. He didn't want them to know he wanted to see them. He pulled off the glasses and slid them forcefully under the workshop door, out in the livingroom. There. Now nobody would shout at him or try to talk to him. All he had to do was keep quiet and not give himself away.

 

They'd leave soon, take Alma with them. Hell, maybe Jamie or Signe would even be mad enough to go to.  He went back to his workbench. Whatever the rest of them got up to now he didn't have to know about it. Later tonight he'd come out and see who was left. At least…at least he’d know they’d come.

 

He sat heavily back down at the workbench. A glowing icon proclaimed a new email. He opened it, numby. It was from the new consultant. 

 

Henchman John Johnson, reporting for duty

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! And thanks to Ann for copy-editing. 
> 
> As always, lovely readers, I'm over at Tumblr as Constant-Instigator, with an open askbox and a propensity for taking requests and posting drabbles when asked to. I have dozens of drables from this verse I wrote to help me sort out family history and how various things went. It's a good place to reach me if you have any question-like things.


	18. Chapter 18

 

Everything would work out. Steve kept telling himself that. The kids were safe right now, there was no immediate threat. He told himself that in the van, in the condo building’s lobby, in the elevator, and all the way down the hall to Phil’s front door. They were working together again, and they stayed together. Pepper was on point, Steve just behind her, Clint at her right, Tony on Steve’s left, and Natasha and Thor brining up the rear. 

The building was nice- Steve had certainly lived in much worse. And the neighborhood was good. So at least he didn’t need to worry much about the area.

Pepper reached the door first, and Steve took a steadying breath. 

They’d work this out. They had to. He glanced at Tony, standing slightly off to the side, without his sling again, looking grim. Steve resisted the urge to reach out to him, take his hand or pull him close or wrap an arm around Tony’s shoulders. Things were a mess, but he just couldn’t believe the kids would want to take this away from them. Still, his stomach clenched with a tension he tried not to let Tony see. Signe was so angry at Tony and what if Jamie was holding on to more fear or anger than he’d let on? What if he saw Steve’s attachment as a betrayal? Their talks on the phone had been going so well. They were getting along. Jamie seemed to want to talk to him. 

It was Jamie that opened the door. He looked pale and unhappy- moreso than when he’d called that morning. Steve didn’t get much of a chance to assess past that before Pepper had him pulled into a tight hug, kissing the top of his head and looking more herself than she had since Phil’s attempt. Jamie huffed a startled noise, muffled by Peppers shoulder, but carefully returned the hug. When he tried to pull away she didn’t let go. Jamie’s shoulders dropped as he seemed to decide not to fight it. 

Inside the extremely trendy open floor plan living room he spotted Signe, arms crossed over her chest and looking hurt and worried. She stepped over towards them, hopefully, and Thor squeezed past Steve and Pepper into the apartment. Alma was less subtle. She vaulted over the back of the couch, bare feet hitting the floor at a run. “You’re here! You’re here!” Clint also pushed past Steve and this time Steve opted to get out of the way by actually entering the apartment as Alma crashed into Clint hard enough it seemed like it could hurt. 

That got Pepper’s attention divided and she looked up, taking one hand off Jamie. Clint hugged Alma tight, and she returned it with enthusiasm. She pulled away, bouncing on her toes. “I missed you!” she said to Clint, then looked around at the rest of them. Pepper reached out an arm and Alma bounced over to hug her, too. Pepper hugged her close, closing her eyes. Jamie looked over at Steve, smiling nervously. Steve saw a worried frown flick over Pepper’s face, there and gone in an instant as Jamie moved away from her grasp. He shuffled towards Steve, which she seemed to find acceptable, before she got distracted by Signe’s much more cautious hug as Thor stood by. 

Steve glanced around as Jamie approached, trying to locate Tony. It wasn’t hard, Tony was lounging in the open doorway, face still and serious, watching the greetings with an air of detachment. Steve reminded himself again to keep his hands to himself. They would work this out. Jamie stopped just a couple feet away, looking up at Steve almost bashfully. “Hi pop.” 

He wondered, after their conversation in the gym if maybe…he put his arm out, landing carefully on Jamie’s shoulder. “Hey.”

Jamie looked like he was about to say something else, but Alma was still working around the group, and took the opportunity to throw her arms around Steve, disregarding the tension in the room. He wrapped his other arm around her. “Hi.”

“Hi!” she answered up at him. There was worry on her face, but also relief. She smiled up at him before freeing herself to continue her rounds, heading back towards Tony. When he looked back Natasha had a hand on Jamie’s other shoulder, checking him over visually while greeting him.

This was better. People checking on each other, regardless of which house they slept in or used to sleep in. The only divide he could see was Signe keeping well away from Tony, and Tony trying not to look at Signe at all. 

Except…Phil wasn’t here. Steve let his hand finally drop away from Jamie, not wanting to hover, and turned to get a better look at the great room. No Phil in sight. He looked back at Tony, whose stoicism was starting to crack as Alma was carefully hugging him on his left. His response was similarly careful. His throat was working hard, swallowing down a reaction.

He looked back to Jamie. He kept his voice quiet “Where’s Phil?” All other conversation in the room immediately ground to a halt. 

Jamie swallowed, any relaxation from the last couple seconds evaporating. He exchanged looks with Alma and then Signe. Alma spoke first, letting Tony go and backing up a step. “Clint? Natasha? Help me with the camera on the roof?”

Natasha raised an eyebrow and glanced at Pepper, then Steve, then Tony before walking over towards Alma. Clint frowned a little, not directly looking at any of them. He nodded at her. “Sure, peanut. Lead the way.”

Signe sounded more grudging. “Father, come help me find a way to get some use out of the communal gym equipment? So far it’s been less than worthless to me.” Thor looked even less pleased to be splitting the group up, but he nodded with an accommodating, if unhappy, smile, clapping Signe on the back and leaving with her. She and Tony exchanged the briefest glance as she passed him on the way out the door. He couldn’t see Signe’s expression from this vantage point, but he could see Tony’s. Tony had said he forgave Signe, and Steve believed it. But Tony didn’t mention not being hurt by Signe, or being afraid of her. As Tony slouched and Signe walked with a ramrod-straight back out the door, she seemed to loom over him, and he seemed very aware of that fact. Once she and Thor were out the door, Tony shut it, and the sound was uncomfortably loud.

Jamie stood in the center of a triangle made up of the three of them, looking miserable and on edge. “Uhm. Do people want to sit down? I could get water or juice or something.”

Pepper was on high alert, watching all of them, but she stepped, slowly towards the couch and Tony, then Steve followed her. Jamie retreated towards the kitchen area. “Uhm. What do people want? Oh! I made coffee. Does anyone want coffee?”

Steve shook his head. Tony muttered something negative. Pepper turned to watch him. “No, thank you.”

Jamie stood in the kitchen, seeming not to want to come closer. Tony dropped himself a little too hard down onto the couch, on the end farthest from the kitchen. Steve hesitated, then sat directly next to him. There was enough room not to, but they were going to tell…well, Jamie at least, in a minute here. Pepper looked at them, then sighed very quietly, and sat perching on the front edge of the couch in the remaining spot. Jamie, unable to come up with any further excuse not to leave the kitchen, drug his feet back towards them, standing behind an armchair perpendicular to the couch, hands on it’s back, just like he’d stood in the gym. Steve was glad he was sitting this time. 

Pepper broke the silence. “So?”

Jamie looked away, down at the floor a few feet to the left. "He's not coming. He's...busy. Work stuff."

"Did he know we were coming?" she asked.

Jamie looked down and nodded. Steve felt Tony’s leg shift, tensing. 

She leaned back in her chair, her voice a little faint. ”Then where _is_ he?"

 “He’s in his workshop, but-“ Jamie started.

The workshop. That would be the metal door by the kitchen. The only door here not made of wood. Pepper got to her feet, striding over to the door in question.

Jamie rotated in his seat. “Mom, he can’t hear you. He took his glasses off out here. And the door’s locked.”

Pepper stopped, a few feet from the door. He could see her run over her options, and picked one. She turned on her heel, eyes locking on Tony. “Tony, open the door.”

 “Mom!” Jamie objected.

Tony looked at the door. His mouth was tight, and every crease of tension near his eyes were in sharp relief. “Pepper, that’s a deadbolt. Even I can’t hack a deadbolt, and I didn't bring any explosives or welding equipment with me.” 

 Anger flickered across her face, but she didn’t let herself get distracted by it. “Fine. Steve?”

Steve was taken aback. He raised a placating hand. This was not how he’d wanted this to go. “I’m not going to break down his door…not without a reason.” Jamie shot him a thankful look.

Pepper wasn’t deterred. “I have a reason.” She shot back steadily.

 Jamie torqued himself back to face her. “Mom, don’t. Don’t freak him out any more than he already is.”

Peppers eyes were blazing. She looked at Jamie. “Then tell me why he won’t come out here. What is he doing in there that’s so damn important?”

Tony spoke up this time. “He's _avoiding_ us. What does it look like?” Pepper flinched. 

Her voice was getting louder, higher pitched “Well I want to know why. A week ago he wanted to take us out to dinner. Now we’re here, he got what he wanted, and he won’t come fifteen feet to see us? Is he still that angry?”

Jamie slumped back in his chair, not looking at them, and not talking.  Tony’s voice was nearly at a monotone. “Alma told you, didn’t she?” Steve looked at Tony, confused.

 Jamie’s head snapped up, a deer caught in headlights. “Uhm.”

Pepper took a few steps back towards the couch, still agitated. “Alma? What would Alma have told him?” She craned her head to look down at Jamie. Jamie turned his face away, shoulders hunched. She looked back at Steve and Tony. 

Tony shifted, putting a little more distance between himself and Steve. Tony looked back at the rest of them, eyes sharp, but tired. "Alma's got into the tower security feed. She's been watching the halls and..." Oh God, the halls. Steve glanced at Jamie, who was suddenly fascinated by the carpet. Steve suspected he would find it equally enthralling, and let his eyes dip down the same way for just a moment.

"The halls?" Pepper asked blankly. There was a pause, while she put it together. “The _halls_? For God’s sake, you two." Steve resisted the urge to hide his face behind his hands. He was going to throttle Tony later for not warning him about this.

A smothered snicker from Jamie got everyones attention, and Jamie flushed at the sudden attention. He looked sheepish, but also a little like he was trying not to laugh.  “Sorry” he muttered, clearly amused at them being caught out by Pepper, but trying to stay polite about it. “Uhm. I don’t think Phil’s mad about that. He didn’t seem to be, anyways. I don’t think he’s got a problem with it.” Jamie concluded with an awkward little smile.

 There was a small shift next to him as Tony relaxed a little. Steve had to ask. “What about you?”  He tried to look calm as Jamie scanned them both again.

“You mean do I…? Uhm. No. I don’t mind. I mean, not that it’s any of my business, but no.” He smiled crookedly “Alma’s over the moon about it. She think’s it cute.”

" _Cute_?"  Tony echoed, incredulous enough to overtake his embarrassment or worry. Steve was busy trying to remember exactly how far they’d gotten in the hallway. He was sticking to the bedroom from now on. No workshop, no hallways…

Jamie shrugged, he seemed to be relaxing. “She might have said ‘adorable’.  It was something like that.”

“Adorable.” Steve restated. Well, there were certainly worse reactions they could have had.

Jamie shrugged. “She thinks it’s romantic. I mean, you two do…” he hesitated, looking them over again. “You’re…in love, right?” There was a hopeful note in his voice Steve would never have dared to expect. 

Steve looked at Tony, who seemed to have heard it to and been caught just as much by surprise. Tony’s eyes met his for a second and there was a flash tenderness just a bit above what was comfortable in front of others. Steve looked down at his own knees for a second, as Tony’s hand moved to rest casually on one of them. He cleared his head and looked back at Jamie. "Well, yeah."

Jamie’s eyes flicked to Tony’s hand, and his smile was approving. “So, that's good then. Kind of like romantic." Pepper was leaning with her hip against the back of Jamie’s chair, arms folded, watching them both.

Tonys hand tightened a little on Steve’s knee, and he didn’t bother to restrain himself from covering it with his own hand. Tony stated " I’m guessing Phil didn’t call us 'cute'.“

Jamie shifted uncomfortably.  “Uh. Well, no. He said it was gross, but I think that was more… I don’t think that was about the…the relationship. That was more…the other. Uhm. Anyways we're all glad you aren't skrull or robot replacements or anything.”

Pepper’s anger from before was replaced with an understated note of pain. “But he won’t come out to see us.”

Jamie looked troubled, and looked down again. He was silent, thinking before he spoke. His voice was quiet, not quite plaintive. “I don’t really feel like I can speak for him. But…” he looked between them. “Why haven’t any of you contacted him?”

To his surprise, Pepper looked away. 

Tony’s tone bordered on sarcastic. “Uh, because he clearly doesn’t want to talk to us?”

Jamie frustration was clear, with a barely aborted eye roll. “That’s what he said about you! Please, just call him. He wants you to.”

Steve looked back at Jamie, who was looking at Tony and Pepper pleadingly while neither of them would look at him. He looked lost. Steve bit his lip. “We’ll work something out. If you say he wants to talk to us, I promise he’ll get a call. Even if he doesn’t pick up, he’ll get a call. More than one. Ok?” 

Jamie seemed relived, and he nodded. “He does. He misses everyone.”

Pepper turned to look at Jamie again. Her voice was quiet. “Ok. If he wants calls, he’ll get calls.”

Jamie smiled up at her hopefully, then looked towards Tony, who just nodded, tightly. 

* * *

Thor watched his daughter as they waited for an additional elevator after Alma, Clint and Natasha had gone to the roof, splintering immediately into their respective houses. Everything he hadn’t wanted for today. Her restlessness and tension were plain for anyone to see. Her hands clenched and unclenched at her sides, blue at the knuckles. Her eyes were restless, tracking whatever furious thoughts occupied her mind. Mannerisms thousands of years familiar to him.

But when he placed a steadying hand on her shoulder, a gesture of comfort and solidarity, she looked at him with a smile of thanks. He saw no rejection. He returned the smile. “I suspect the gym you spoke of is beyond help where you’re concerned.”

She sighed regretfully. “It is.”

He nodded to a set of chairs by a window occupying the other end of the widened hallway where the elevators were. She nodded, treading towards them wearily, hands still restless. She collapsed into one, and Thor joined her. She looked away, lost in thought but not, apparently, avoiding his eyes deliberately.

“You are more troubled than when last we spoke.” He observed.

“I am.” She answered shortly.

“You won’t tell me?”

At this she blinked away some of her distraction, turning her eyes to his, blue leaving her knuckles. “Oh. No, I’m sorry. I’m just…absorbed in my own thoughts. It wasn’t meant as a slight.” She turned in her seat to face him. “Phil is becoming…unstable. More so.”

Thor frowned. “Then he should come home. I applaud your efforts with him, but if this isn’t helping it should be undone.”

Signe shook her head. “I don’t believe that will help. I don’t… Father _no one_ has called him. Not Tony or Ms. Potts or Captain Rogers or anyone. Why have you all rejected him?”

Thor’s back stiffened. “I wouldn’t. But it’s not my place to call him, not now. He needs to speak to-“

“But they haven’t called either! None of them. Now Phil believes they have rejected him and I cannot blame him for it. Although he is being a _complete_ ass about it, and he made Alma cry.”

“They are all here now.” Thor said, trying to sound gentle.

“It may be too late. Didn’t you see he wasn’t there? He won’t come out to meet them. He has said they’re not his family anymore. He even spoke of finding a new name. He’s forsworn any connection to them but through us. Father, how could they just leave him here? How could you all do this to him?”

“That’s not the case.” He insisted. “He demanded his space and was granted it. That’s all. It’s been all of four days.”

“Four days in which he needed them. Badly.”

“And now they’re here. They could bear the distance less than a week. He’s a fool if he thinks less than a week could break their love for him.”

Signe looked down again, a sharp, pained exhale. “You still believe Tony loves him, then.”

 “Tony is Phil’s father-“ he started, but Signe cut him off, raising her voice.

“How many parents have rejected their children? How many that you know, personally? Both Tony’s parents from the way he tells it. Clint’s father. Doctor Banner’s father. Doctor Banner himself. _Odin._ Frigga. Laufey. My mother, whoever _she_ is. You cannot ask us to accept the fairytale that mere parenthood is enough to forge an unbreakable bond. We are none of us so naive anymore.”

He held up a hand to quiet her. “I don’t ask it. But _your_ family, Phil’s family, is stronger, better than that. How long ago was it you thought I did not accept you? And see how wrong you were. You saw how Tony was when Phil was seizing. Can you really believe the same man would reject that relationship in so short a time?”

She shook her head, but stubbornly. “He lost his heir that day. Lost the son he _wanted_.”

“If you’d only seen how he’s been since then, you wouldn’t say such absurd things.”

“He’s already cast Jamie aside. I’ve never known why. It’s lucky Jamie doesn’t remember it.” She looked at him, challengingly. “The others don’t remember. Jamie is too young, Alma wasn’t there and Phil is too self-obsessed. But I bet you do. Tony used to treat Jamie as his very own, every bit as much as Phil. Then, one day he just…stopped. Started ignoring him. And Jamie was so young, he couldn’t possibly have done anything to deserve it.” 

Thor did remember. Watching such a small boy reach up to his friend expectantly, only to have Tony tell him to seek attention elsewhere. He’d been upset enough at the time to confront Tony about it, but “That was not what it seemed.” He assured her. “I spoke to him, and-“

“It was _unforgivable.”_ She cut in. “How can I trust his affections now? Why should Phil? His pattern is clear. He has failed his son too many times.”

“ _You_ should because I ask you to. Or do you still distrust me?”

A shadow of doubt passed over her features, but was swiftly gone. Her voice became quiet. “No. But you trust too easily, father. You love too well.”

He sat back. “So be it.”

“I still don’t know why the Captain would risk it. How he could trust his heart to such a person?”

Thor’s eyes widened. “How did you know about that?”

She shrugged, a bit smug. “Alma has always watched the tower. It is no surprise she would do as much here, now she can’t see you all directly. Alma’s loyalty is complete.”

Thor huffed disapprovingly. “More spying.”

Signe hesitated a moment “Phil missed them. He expressed displeasure that they were spying on them, and he wanted to see how they were doing. Only…then he denied it, and said he didn’t want to see anymore.”

“But you believed he wanted to see them.”

“He-“ she stopped short, holding back whatever explanation she’d intended. “Yes. But it seems he’s changed his mind.”

Thor shifted. “His mind is…unwell.”

Signe’s expression darkened again. “It would have to be for him to take employment from that…snake. He knows what he’s building would be a terrible weapon, and yet he would place it in the hands of…”

Thor could sympathize with this. “I understand. You wish to protect him, but know what he does is wrong.”

A heavy silence fell. She looked at him, her eyes pleading.  “If _you_ had it to do over again…?” He understood her question. Now that his brother was no longer an untouchable subject between them, it was time. 

His voice was low, as gentle as he could make it. “I wish I had stopped Loki sooner. Before things were done which he couldn’t atone for. I would have used more force, if it could have protected him from actions which can’t be undone. Can’t be forgiven.” She looked away. They were hard words to hear.

She was silent a long moment, her next words a sudden change. “Father? My…my mother.”

He nodded. There was no longer any sense in concealing it. “Did not reject you, Signe.” She looked up, confused. She must have assumed so for so long. “But she knew how you would be under suspicion on Asgaurd. She gave you to my care, that I would bring you here, wanting the best life for you possible.”

Signe frowned, thinking hard. “Did you know her?”

He nodded, morosely. “I did. Very well, once.”

“But she fell in with Loki.”

That was a difficult measure. “I believe she did plan to marry him. But he was…and I captured him before that could happen. She lost his protection, and returned to her exile. She risked her own freedom to bring you to me, not wanting for you the life which her actions had condemned her to.”

“And you let her go?”

He closed his eyes. “Yes.”

“Was she deserving of imprisonment?”

He nodded, wearily. “She had been exiled as a traitor to Asgard well before Loki. I allowed her to return to her exile after their plan failed. Because she moved to save you.”

Signe was clever, assembling in her mind the things Thor had not said. “She was another you had once cared for?” He nodded. “Then she was also another who betrayed you, who committed acts of treason and needless violence. And you let her go out of affection. For her, or me, or for Loki.”

He shifted discontentedly in his seat. “You are too sharp by half. I think you moving against the side of justice would be more dangerous even than if it were me.”

“Do you regret letting her go?”

There was no good answer to this. He told her to act decisively to prevent her brother’s sins, should it be necessary, when he himself had too much history of granting mercy beyond what reason should afford. His answer bore his frustration, but his voice was low. “Very well. You have caught my hypocrisy. But it is natural I should want better for you than to follow in my footsteps.”

She smiled at him, nearly pityingly, but nonetheless with affection. He reached out a hand to her cheek. “But you are cleverer than me, although you’ve seen less. Both Loki and Amora were thus. It doesn’t surprise me. Use what you have, daughter. You’ll figure this out.”

Her voice was soft “Maybe.” She stated without enthusiasm. “But that is a doting father’s compliment, if ever I heard one.” She objected mildly.

He patted her shoulder. “Then it is fitting.” She gave a soft laugh at his expense, and he smiled.

 

* * *

Alma toed at the gravel on the roof. Clint put an arm around her shoulders for a side-hug. “How’re you holding up, peanut?”

“I’m ok. But I think Phil’s gone crazy.”

“Fair assessment.” Natasha answered dryly. 

Alma shook her head. “No like…really bad. Yesterday he almost made Signe cry. And now he won’t talk to his parents even though he really wants to and he said they weren’t even his family anymore.” She sniffed, couldn’t help starting to make a crying face. “He said he didn’t want to talk to them anymore but he’s so totally _lying._ ”

Clint gave her a real hug. She shut her eyes tight and just said it. “I don’t think I can come home yet.”

Clint froze for a sec, then pushed her away just long enough to look her in the eye. “Hey, no. We had a deal, here. 5 days here, 5 days at home. That was our deal.”

She sniffed. “I know! And I _hate_ it here. Phil’s crazy and Signe’s angry and Jamie…actually he’s being pretty cool but I want to go _home._ ”

“Ok.” Clint said, trying to pull her back again. 

She backed up instead, looking down again, shaking her head. “But I can’t leave just in the middle of everything like this.”

“Yes, you can.” He objected. 

She looked at him, pleadingly. “Everything’s a mess. I can’t just ditch.”

“It’s a tactical retreat.” Clint said, flatly.

She sniffled again.  “Nuh-uh. It’s not tactical. You just miss me.”

He looked annoyed. “So?”

She smiled, and hugged him again. She really didn’t want to stay with Phil being such a jerk. But if she left, Jamie would have to deal with Phil and Signe by himself. She might not be super useful, but he should have at least a little bit of backup, right? She’d been helping some.

Natasha was calmer, and used her planning voice. “And what are you going to accomplish if you stay here longer?”

She felt Clint’s head move, probably giving her a dirty look. Alma considered. “I want to call in reinforcements.” She leaned to look at Natasha. “Phil won’t talk to any of you. But…maybe I can call in someone he will talk to.”

“Such as?” Natasha prompted.

Alma hesitated. “Well…like uncle Rhodey. I’ve been calling him, too. Cause he was getting _super_ angry Tony wouldn’t call him back. He’ll totally come up here and talk to Phil. Maybe that would help? But it’s less weird if he’s coming over to visit me.”  

“Triple agent.” Clint mumbled.

“Triple liaison.” Alma corrected.

“What aren’t you telling us.” Natasha demanded, a little sharper. Dangit. 

Alma bit her lip, looking down. “Everything is changing really fast. People are telling secrets all over the place. Like, with Tony and Steve? They both must’ve been keeping secrets.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow, dissapproving. “You already know.”

Clint half-laughed. “She wanted to tell you.”

Alma turned to her. “Ohmygosh, isn’t it cute? You’re happy, right?”

Natasha softened. “Yes, Zaika. I’m happy.”

“And they actually are kind of cute.” Clint agreed.

Alma brightened a little. “Are they all schmoopy together?”

“Holding hands.” Natasha agreed.

“Awwwwwww. See, I knew they’d be cute.”

“But you’re diverting.” Natasha interjected.

Alma cuddled closer to Clint. She should’ve brought her warmer coat. “Yeaaah…Uhm. Ok, so uhm. Ok, don’t be mad.”

“Oh good.” Clint grumbled.

She leaned back just enough to look up at Clint with her biggest eyes and just a little bit of babyface. “I can call Bruce.”

She was surprised by his reaction. She’d expected him to be surprised or angry. But his eyes went big, and he went totally still. Frozen. 

“ _What?!_ ” Natasha sounded as shocked as Alma had ever heard her.  Alma gave her the same look. It wouldn’t really work, but it would at least convey that Alma was sorry about this. “Since when?”

“Uhm…like 2 years? But not very often. It’s really hard. And…he always says how he can’t come home. But… maybe, this time, for Phil, he would? Just to visit?” She looked back and forth between them. “Don’t you think?” she added, nervous. She couldn’t bring herself to believe he wouldn’t, not under circumstances like this. 

There was a long minute with both of them staring at her, then another when they both turned their attention inside, considering. Clint looked at her, his mind made up. “Ok. Do it.”

 

* * *

 

Clint had the TV on. Supposedly, he was watching it. He didn’t know who the hell he was keeping that pretense up for, though. Alma wasn’t here.

 

Banner. She had been in contact with him for years. And now, she was going to try to call him home. Which meant either Bruce would refuse and break her heart _again_ , or he’d come back and… suddenly, he couldn’t help but see his old friend as a rival. He’d already had pretty mixed feelings about Bruce. He could never make out if Bruce was a martyr or a deserter.  

 

They’d never been super close. Neither of them tended towards chatter or towards pulling anything out of those around them. But there had been an understanding- common ground Clint couldn’t find anywhere else. Only Bruce really understood what it was to wake up knowing you’d crossed every line. Of having a level of culpability that couldn’t ever really be resolved. Bruce walked the same fine line Clint did. He never held Clint’s actions under Loki against him, but neither did he offer the well-intentioned but meaningless forgiveness and assurances the others handed him. It may have been Loki driving, but it had been Clint just the same. Bruce understood that. 

 

And then, there’d been Alma bringing them together. Clint couldn’t help but love her. And Bruce had never tried to get in the way of that. He trusted Clint around her. Trusted what Clint knew about little kids- especially hungry barefoot kids. 

 

Yeah. Bruce never restricted Clint from Alma. He had to remember that.

 

His phone pinged a new message. **STARK: Barton, get up here. I need you.** Clint raised an eyebrow.  More unexpected one on one time. Things really were changing. And since Tony’d said he gave Jamie a tranc dart gauntlet… God that had helped. Jamie would never, _could_ never shoot Tony. But he could tranc him. Stark’s clear and open invitation for him to do so if necessary was the clearest proof Clint could have asked for of Tony’s commitment to not doing that again. The fact he’d kept it secret told him it wasn’t all for show.

 

Clint headed up. 

 

The workshop was clean- recently clean, by the lack of coffee mugs, and the busted coffee table Nat had reported was gone. He was a little surprised that Tony was sitting on his workshop couch, staring blankly into space and not moving. Not fidgeting, no files open. He didn’t acknowledge Clint till he was a couple feet away. Even then he seemed startled.

 

 

Tony still had the vacant, glassy eyes and the pinched lips he’d had when he came back to the car that afternoon. He hadn’t looked at any of them the whole ride, but had let himself tuck up against Steve silently during drive home, uncharacteristically quiet and vulnerable in front of the rest of them.

 

 

Tony shook off his haze. “Hey, there you are. Sit down, I need to talk to you.” Ok. There was an agenda. Clint had no idea where this was going, but Tony still seemed sober, so most likely whatever he wanted was at least moderately legitimate. He sat next to Tony on the couch.

 

 

Tony did fidget a bit now, which was something of a relief. Tony wasn’t meant for stillness. He glanced at Clint, then away again. “So here’s the thing. I’m miserable, which is no surprise, and half the time I try and work I _still_ end up turning around to say something to Phil, so that’s not helping. And I can’t really do anything with the gym or the pool till this thing heals a little more.” He gestured limply at his collarbone.

 

 

“Ok.” Clint acknowledged. Tony without an outlet. Understood. But why call Clint? He’d have figured Tony would be all over Steve right now. Probably literaly.

 

"Do you see where I'm going with this?"

 

"Not at all."

 

Tony made the quiet-but-not-quite-quiet-enough noise he made when the rest of the world wasn't being smart enough and it was pissing him off. "So I've been sitting up here for like the last hour trying to figure out how to get a liquor shipment up here discreetly." Tony looked at him again. “Yeah. See? You disapprove. That’s what I was expecting.”

 

 

Clint didn't try to hide it. “Shouldn’t I? You start that way now you know it’ll be a bender, and it’s been less than 48 hours since you told me you’d lay off.”

 

 

“Exactly. Yes. See, you understand.” Tony seemed genuinely relieved.

 

Clint watched Tony a little longer, putting it together. Tony wanted Clint to _talk him down_. That was a first. 

 

Clint actually didn't know if Tony ever asked anyone to talk him out of drinking. If he had, Clint wouldn't have expected it to be him, even if Clint had been the one to tell him to knock it off. Clint wasn't on the short list of people Tony listened to off the field. 

 

Was it because Clint had been the one to tell him to knock it off? Or maybe Stark was more aware than he let on how many times Clint had bit back a lecture over the years- especially this past year. He’d just never thought lecturing would make a drinker quit drinking. He wouldn’t even have bothered yesterday, except that he was running out of things to lose by trying.

 

Or, Tony was asking Clint based on a whole other criteria. 

 

Years ago, during the divorce, Clint had owed Tony an apology for tackling him to the ground after he’d come over and misinterpreted a crying toddler, an angry Tony, and an empty tumbler. He’d offered up a piece of his own ancient history as an olive branch. Tony had never brought it up again, but he doubted even Tony would forget a detail like that.

 

Tony was asking for the words of an alcoholic’s son. He’d selected Clint as a representative.

 

Nobody had ever asked him before, for the words he couldn't make heard as a little kid. The words nobody had been listening for. Tony actually wanted to hear them, then put them to use. Give them value.  Ok.

 

Clint leaned back, looking up at the ceiling. This was old stuff. He didn't think about it much anymore. For once, Tony was quiet, patient.

 

Eventually, he had a place to start. “Ok, who do you love more, Phil, or booze?”

 

“What?” Tony sounded, understandably, offended.

 

“Just answer.”

 

“Phil.” He answered curtly.

 

“Ok. How about when you are pissed-out-of-your-mind-drunk? Too drunk to form a coherent sentence or know where you are or how to walk. Week long bender drunk. Then who do you love more- Phil, or the next drink?”

 

Tony watched him, evaluating his words silently. Clint let him stew in it. “Look, I’m always gonna choose Phil, here. I don’t see where this is going.”

  

Clint smiled humorlessly. “Thing is, you're wrong, though. You get toasted enough, or stay buzzed long enough and you don’t love anybody. You drink like that to go numb, to forget. And it works. You can do that. Numb out anything you’re feeling and forget anything you’re worried about. I know you’ve been there. So’ve I. Somewhere in all the numb other things get lost too. Stuff like love. And you’ll let it go, because it hurts. You can get drunk enough you’ll barely see Phil, or any of the kids. You can’t love him like that. You aren’t coherent enough to give a shit. And you drink right now, that’s the kind of drunk you’ll end up.

 

“Of course, Phil’s not here. Maybe he wouldn’t even know you’d done it. But you’re not alone up here. Any way you slice this, if you get lost in a bottle, someone who cares about you is gonna know about it. So, who here do you want to see you love the booze more than them? Someone’s gonna find you. Steve or Pepper …Nat, Thor, Me. Take your pick. We’re all watching you too carefully for you to slip it under the radar. If you disappear we’re going to come looking for you this time. This isn’t a good time to disappear people Nat likes, by the way. So someone’s gonna see it. Someone’s gonna know that, at least right then, and in the moment you decided to head down that road, that you loved the booze more than them. That that’s what you chose. Even when you come back after, they’re gonna know. And it leaves an impression.”

 

Tony’s lips were pressed together, expressions flickering across his face as he ran over and weighed Clint’s words. They weren’t quite the words he would have chosen if he’d had anyone to listen when he was small, they were a lot more sympathetic, less angry, less clawing. But Tony was asking for them, and was clearly trying, and that made the words easier to soften.

 

Eventually Tony gave a token protest. “It’s not like that. I don’t want to forget Phil.”

 

“You want to stop hurting?” Tony nodded. “Then that’s what it’s gonna take. No way otherwise for this not to hurt. You can’t remember what he’s doing and love him, and not have it hurt. Can’t have it both ways.”

 

“You’re supposed to be up here talking me out of this, you know.” Tony grumbled.

  

Clint shrugged. “I can’t control you, Stark. That was never going to work. I can tell you what I want, what I think, and what I’ll do, and that’s it. You’ll get blitzed if you decide to. And you already know it’ll work, so there’s no point pretending otherwise. I just think that, if you do, you should remember what choice you're making. I want you to know that everyone around you can see the choice you're making.” His voice had a little more heat to it than he meant it to by the end, but Tony didn’t flinch away from it. Just listened.

  

It felt good. To have someone who could use these words hear them- to ask for them and listen. Some other time, when the subject of conversation was less immediate, he’d have to thank Tony for that. At least, if this turned out to work. And for not agreeing with Clint right away or being glib like he knew how to be. Tony was thinking. Using every one of his zillion damn IQ points to consider Clint’s words. Eventually, he nodded. “Ok. Got it.” He looked at Clint. “I got it. Thanks.” No snark, no sarcasm, perfectly direct.

 

“No drinking?”

 

“Not…at least not till I know it won’t get that far. Which is…not today. Or tomorrow. Probably be a while.”

 

Clint patted Tony’s back. Tony smiled thinly then asked. “So, any idea how to make this suck less, then?”

 

“I figured you’d call up Steve or Pepper for that. Or Bruce.” He finished, pointedly.

 

Tony made a face. “I honestly meant to tell you all that. I seriously just forget sometimes.” He held up his hands. “But, in my defense, it was his idea to keep it a secret. Not mine. At all. I had kinda hoped Alma would crack and tell, but she didn’t.” He shrugged. “Just not really my secret to give.”

 

“Cat’s out of the bag now.”

 

Tony huffed. “Finally.”

 

“Think he’ll actually come back?”

 

Tony looked conflicted, first up at Clint. “Alma’s calling him?” Cling nodded, and Tony glanced away from Clint’s face. “I guess we’ll see.”

 

“Right.” Clint agreed. Bruce would or he wouldn’t. It was in Alma’s hands. 

 

Y’know, distraction to make this suck less sounded pretty good. Thor’s visit from a couple days ago sprang to mind. Tony was crazy good at video games. A legitimate challenge. “Still got a gaming console up here?”

 

Tony was bemused, if slightly skeptical. “Seriously? Video games?”

 

"Sure. We could even do a tournament if you wanted to call anybody else up. Or you could just have me beat you, if that's better."

 

Tony grinned at the obvious bait. “Pick your poison, Robin Hood.”

 

* * *

 

Signe got home late from xyr run, well after midnight. Xe knew the others wouldn’t worry for xyr being out late. There was nothing out there to harm xyr.  Xe’d run for over 12 hours, just trying to drain out the crackling nervous energy under xyr skin. Xe shouldn’t do that- shouldn’t be away from the condo for so long a time. But there was nothing for xyr to _do_ here, and Phil’s persistent refusal to let xyr do anything drove xyr mad. When xe was out, xe worried about xyr brothers. When Signe was home, xe worried what xe might have to do to protect Phil. 

 

Xe had a circuit now, a loop of a pattern with a little room for variability that took xyr near several areas of concern and interest, some high-crime areas, past a few research facilities, and past a white collar prison- a prison of particular interest to xyr.

 

When xe did arrive back at the condominium, xe saw the light still on in the workshop, and the door ajar. Signe followed the light, and the potential invitation it represented.

 

Phil was leaning back far in his desk chair, feet against the edge of the work table, staring at the ceiling. He was turning his Iron Man toy over in his hands, absently, lost in thought. Judging by the worried look on his face, it wasn’t mechanical calculations he was running through. That was a relief. 

 

Xe missed him. Missed talking talking to xyr brother without anything horrible being said. So, xe took a few steps forward, placing xirself in his line of vision. He jumped, almost dropping the toy, then glared at xyr in a mild, exhausted way. He was getting so thin. But he tiredly dropped his hand, and the toy, onto the work surface, slowly dragging back up his glasses, putting them on. “Hi. What time is it?”

 

“Nearly one.” Xe said, leaning with xyr arms crossed against the wall, some distance away.

 

“Pretty late for you.” It was true. Xe still required much sleep, something xe hoped would stop once xe reached xyr full height. Xe shrugged. 

 

“Still mad?” Phil said.

 

Xe wasn’t sure how to answer that without starting a fight. Xe chose to sidestep the issue for now. He must guess xe was still mad. “Aren’t you tired?”

 

He swiveled his chair a bit. “Not tired enough.”

 

There was a long silence. Xe tried not to look at the displays left floating in the air. He went back to looking at the ceiling. He broke the silence first, his voice weary. “Who’s here?”

 

Xe shrugged. “Everyone.”

 

He frowned. “What’s that mean, ‘everyone’? ”

 

“Everyone who was here when you slammed the door in our faces this morning.”

 

He seemed confused, in an insomnia-addled way. “Alma?”

 

“Yes, Alma is one of those who you were rude to this morning.”

 

Phil looked down, flicking at the toy. “Half expected her _and_ Jamie to be gone.”

 

Signe didn’t try to hide xyr disapproval. “You think Jamie less loyal than me?”

 

He shook his head. “No, but he _can_ go home.”

 

Xe bristled slightly. “As can I. Don’t treat my choice as less than what it is.”

 

He sat back forward, letting the chair right itself from it’s half-reclining position, pointing the toy at her, not seeming entirely aware he was doing so. “Nope. You are my fellow exile. I told you that in the tower.”

 

Xir chest tightened. “I am not an exile.” Not exactly true, of course. 

 

“Sure you are. You and me, we’re the ones fucking things up for everybody. Because you can’t control your temper, and I’m broken and…I don’t even know what else. But it’s us. We’re breaking everything.”

 

“I…what?” His words gave xyr a slow, sinking feeling “I hardly think we’re to blame for everything-“

 

“We’re to blame for enough of it.” He interrupted. “We may not be technically exiled, but you and I both know it’s in everyone’s best interest if we stay away.” He swiveled again. “Let them get on with their lives.”

 

“Father wants me home, he-“

 

“Has a track record of betting on the wrong horse, Sig. He’d want you home no matter how bad an idea it was. If I-“ his voice cracked, and he forced it steady again. “If I asked, I bet my parents would take me back, too. But they shouldn’t. They probably don’t want to as much as Thor wants you back, but I bet they’d take me, if I asked nice.”

 

Xir throat was painfully tight. “And this is better? Killing yourself or providing weapons to the highest bidder?”

 

“Better than ruining the rest of them? I dunno. It might be. Do you really want to go back and watch them implode from the inside? We could destroy the Avengers, Sig. You and me. Better a henchman than a supervillain anyways, right?”

 

“Those aren’t our only options!” Xe objected.

 

“No, ok. They’re _my_ best options. I guess you could go wherever you wanted. But, uhm.” He glanced away, more anxious than angry. “I could use the company. If you don’t mind hanging out with a broken-brained henchman.”

 

“At the moment you’re more of a minion than a henchman.” Xe answered cooly.

 

“Fine. A minion, then. Still want me as a brother?””

 

Xe glowered. “That’s manipulative.”

 

“But honest.” He stood, xe wasn’t sure whether xe imagined the slight waver in his stance. “Look, you have like, thousands of years to be a hero or whatever. But right now, I don’t think you’re up to it. You can’t control your temper. But you can keep by me. That gives you a better deal than Bruce had, at least. Assuming you want to, anyways. Or that he did.” He walked towards xyr, going from exhausted to slightly frantic. “Look, we don’t fit in with them. We aren’t heroes. Maybe someday you will be but I _can’t_. I can’t even be what dad was before Iron Man. I’m not good enough. Not just ‘cause I’m deaf, but because I can’t fix myself. I have to build my own life, without them. And you-”

 

“I can control my temper.” Xe growled.

 

He gave her a pitying, skeptical look. “Sure. So breaking Tony’s collarbone was-“

 

“Deliberate.” Xe concluded.

 

Phil’s eyes widened, then narrowed in realization, then scrutiny. “You did that on purpose?” Xe nodded, curtly. Anger bloomed across his expression. “You mean you knew what you were doing?”

 

“Of course I did! I’ve been training for battle my whole life! Did you really think I didn’t know exactly what I was doing?”

 

Phil’s anger crystalized inso a derisive sneer. “And _you_ want to be a hero?”

 

It hurt to hear, but there was relief in this. Phil saw and understood more than xyr father was willing to. Again, the memory of three wet snaps under xyr hand rippled through xyr arm. Xe still felt right to distrust Tony, to force him to stop, to make him know that xyr brothers were defended. Signe only felt the faintest guilt at the action, born mostly from the darts Jamie now possessed and was never without. Strengthened slightly by Tony’s pressence that morning, however grudging it appeared.

 

And Phil understood perfectly what that meant. Signe was not, in fact, like Bruce. Xe didn’t lack control over xyr anger. But even controlled, xe could strike out at an unarmed old man, injuring him beyond what was necessary for xyr goal. Punishing him further because xe wanted to. Because xe was angry and afraid and because xe couldn’t forgive him for turning on Jamie, for failing Phil, for all his other crimes against her family.

 

Signe was brave. Strong. Loyal. And a capable warrior.

 

But no hero.

 

Xe didn’t belong in that tower. Less than Phil did. Xir father had misplaced his trust yet again. A capable warrior who was loyal but lacked the qualities of a true hero. Signe may even be more cut out to be a henchman than Phil was.

 

There was an allure to this. Phil was nearly destroyed by losing his goal in life. May still be destroyed. But Signe had always worked to hold xirself to the highest ethical standards of behavior- actions befitting the hero xe had hoped to become. 

 

Without that goal, xe could follow the other demand of xyr heart- to defend those _xe_ loved, at any cost. To allow xirself to prioritize what xe held dearest, rather than taking on the good of all mankind. Rather than suffering the betrayal that could come from expecting those xe loved to follow the same moral standards. What a relief it would be, to excuse xirself from extending mercy to those who threatened what xe defended. To simply love who xe loved. 

 

Father had lost his brother to his moral standards. And, likely, xyr mother as well. 

 

Was that what Signe wanted?

 

It wasn’t villainy, to defend the ones you loved. In average people, such defense might even be called heroism. It was only the extraordinary who were expected to take on every other burden as well- the impossible guilt of it all. Of every time you failed. Of all the lives you had to take to win. Burdened with guilt no matter your actions.

 

This was another way. Accept a simpler mission- Protect xyr brothers and sister. Do whatever that required. Let the Avengers handle the rest of the world. Let the battle over Phil’s creations belong to someone else. The world had other heroes.

 

Xe looked Phil in the eye, so he couldn’t mistake xyr sincerity. “I will stay by you.” He tried to maintain his mask of anger, his sneer. But xe knew him far too well. He was so desperate not to lose xyr. At least he needed something from xyr, and xe would provide it. His throat worked, swallowing a noise around tightness, and he nodded stiffly. Signe wrapped one arm around his shoulders, pulling him close. He staggered, xe had used too much force, but didn’t resist when xe held him against xyr. “I swear, you won’t be alone.”

 

He stayed still for a brief moment, then one hand came up to touch xyr shoulder blade in a brief, acknowledging contact before he pulled away. Xe didn’t resist it.

 

He kept his head down, his voice was rough, but quiet. “Thanks, Sig.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you for reading. And as always, I'm on Tumblr as Constant-Instigator with an open askbox and a tendancy to answer questions and drabble requests, particularly drabble requests related to this 'verse.


	19. Chapter 19

Phil’s leg was bouncing under the table at the formerly-trendy sushi place he’d been escorted to, waiting for Hammer. This place didn’t have tablecloths to cover up for him. It was darkly lit, trying to be private and atmospheric, but the end result was just that Phil was going to get eyestrain from reading in the low light. He could switch from the e-ink to screen mode, but then the words would actually _glow_ and that was the last thing he wanted. He fought the urge to slouch down in the chair. At least the public setting was working here, with no overhead music and appropriately spaced tables.

Hammer, of course, was running late. Another obnoxious power play, making Phil wait for him. What a douche.

 

**TEXT MESSAGE PHONE ALERT**

 

No doubt Hammers secretary telling Phil that Hammer was in an _important_ meeting and would be late. He pulled out the phone. **MOM: Sorry I didn’t get to see you yesterday. Please call me.**

He stopped breathing for a second. No crying in the restaurant. _No crying in a business meeting in a God-damn restaurant._

 

A hand landed heavily on his shoulder, and he jumped, but at least managed to stay in his chair. He turned. Hammer loomed over him, giving Phil him that gleamingly over-bleached smile again. **HAMMER: Hey, now that’s not the face I would have expected from the guy that sent me those fantastic progress notes last night.Come-on, cheer up. That’s great work. You’re doing some really great work.**

 

“Oh.” Phil perked up a little, embarrassingly effected by the praise, trying to put the text out of his mind for the moment. “Yeah. Your consultant knows his stuff. I really think I can get this together- at least a testing prototype within the calendar year. L had some really solid information about making sure dispersal doesn’t interfere with-“

 

Hammer cut him off with a gesture, but he smiled at Phil. **Hey, hey, slow down there. I love that enthusiasm, but I swear, I read the email. And this isn’t the time or place to be talking about that.**

Phil flushed a little and shut up. Right. Obviously you wouldn’t talk about proprietary designs in a public restaurant. He knew that. He nodded. Hammer continued. **I just wanted to check in, see how our newest addition to the family is getting along. You made a bold move, coming out here on your own. I just wanted to make sure you were settling in ok.** **See if there was anything else you needed.** He patted Phil’s shoulder again before moving around to take his seat on the other side of the table. **All that babysitting, that’s got to be exhausting. That Signe seems like a real handful.**

 

A “handful”? That was a hell of a way to describe someone with Signe’s potential destructive power. Phil laughed humorlessly. “You have no idea.”

 

Hammer watched him, evaluatingly, putting his napkin on his lap. **Look, Phil, far be it from me to criticize your work up till this point. Like I said. Great stuff. But I have to say, I’m worried. Here you are, a young guy, out on his own finally, spreading his wings, and you’ve got these _distractions_ to deal with. And it seems like, to me, those distractions could slow you down. Pull you down.TEXT MESSAGEPHONE ALERT And I’m sure you’re as eager as I am- more-so, even, to get to the testing phase of our work. Having a couple of teenagers- no offense, but hey, I think you already know you’re no normal teenager, am I right? Having three teenagers around to deal with could be a real problem. TEXT MESSAGE PHONE ALERT.**

 

Alarm spread through him at the suggestion implied, as he tried to ignore the impulse to check his phone. Who was it this time? Another message from mom? Dad maybe? Steve? Or just Jamie asking about groceries. “They aren’t. They aren’t really normal. Jamie is, kind of, maybe, but not really. They don’t distract me though.“ Unlike his phone, burning in his hand. He wanted to look at it. He needed to look at it. But that would be rude to his boss. His boss who he needed.

 

Hammers eyes narrowed again, there was a hint of displeasure there. **Not normal? What do you mean not normal?**

 

“Just…not…they’re special. That’s all. They aren’t like normal teenagers. Heh. Believe me, I know we don’t fit in with other teenagers.”

 

Hammer nodded slightly, scrutinizing him. **Special, huh?** Phil nodded. **Like the Avengers. Right? That’s what you mean?**

 

Like the Avengers? Well, not really. Mom wasn’t an Avenger… Alma was too young and Signe was too violent and Jamie was…well, Jamie. But in terms of being special… “Sort of, yeah.”

 

Hammer looked like he was trying to understand. **So like your _old_ family, back at the tower. **The ones who had, almost certainly, just sent him several texts.

 

But. His “old” family. Well, how hard would it be to figure out a deaf guy who screwed up his experiment didn’t belong with the Avengers? Even Hammer would know that. Hell, that was why Hammer had come looking for him. Scooping up Tony’s castoffs. He swallowed, hoping his voice sounded steady. “Yeah.”

 

The waiter appeared, chatting with a cheerful smile and explaining specials Phil paid barely any attention to. He left again, and Hammer frowned at Phil thoughtfully, sitting back in his chair as he gathered up his thoughts. Dad- _Tony_ did the same thing. This guy had a lot of Tony’s mannerisms, actually. Talking with his hands and strutting. He just didn’t do any of them as well as dad did.

 

Maybe if Tony wasn’t in the world nobody would have noticed. Maybe Hammer wouldn’t have seemed as much of fake, a knockoff. A shadow of someone greater. But Tony _was_ in the world, and anyone with the ability to make a comparison between the two would recognize Hammer’s fakeness. The suit cut to try and make him look bigger but not quite making it. The fake smile more aggressively whitened but still shade less bright than even dads fakest, most forced smiles. The heavy crease between his eyebrows, rather than at the corners of his eyes. Built for and by criticism rather than praise.

In a lot of small, intimate ways, Tony was fake. His business suits were weapons of defense more than statements of style, his bravado was a shield and his smile was a decoy at least half the time. But this guy…Hammer was a copy of a fake. Rich, yes, and sure, powerful too. Smart, even. But once you knew Tony, Hammer was contemptibly pathetic. Every inch of him was coated with desperate attempts to build himself up, be more than he was. But, like Phil, Hammer wasn’t the kind of man who could have rebuilt himself in a cave out of scraps. There wasn’t anything heroic in him.

 

He was like a low-res, pixilated copy of Phil’s dad. Like a subpar LMD. Somehow making Phil miss Tony more by trying and failing.

 

Just like Phil was doing. This, if anything, was Phil’s other option to obscurity. Fade from public view, or be this. He wondered if Hammer had a family- if he’d ever been married, if he had any kids or siblings. Phil had never heard any mentioned. He seemed alone.

 

Hammer finally spoke. He leaned forward, probably lowering his voice. **Phil, I’m not here to tell you how to run your life. But you have a decision to make here. Try and fit in with them, be what you aren’t, or let go of that, and start over. The choice is yours.**

 

Hammer leaned back, brushing the moment off as the waiter appeared again, and Hammer ordered for them both.

 

Phil was paying even less attention, wheels spinning in place. That was uncomfortably direct. And from Hammer… a warning like that from the cheap copy of his dad…from someone who knew.

Was it a warning from someone who regretted the path they’d taken? Or just a simple tactic to try and get Phil to distance himself from Hammers rival?

 

He didn’t know. He didn’t know what to ask to find out. Maybe it was both. Either way, he had a point. Phil didn’t fit in with them. He couldn’t keep up. And what good could they do him? If he was with them- if he tried to keep up, would he end up the next Justin Hammer- the next poor copy? Contemptible, pathetic, and alone?

 

When the waiter left and Hammer started talking again, it was normal, work stuff. Information about a new facility, and Phil’s continued collaboration with “L”. Phil walked through the conversation on automatic, wondering if it was better to be a cheap copy, or the minion of a cheap copy.

 

It took him a long time to stop clutching his phone in his hand, under the table, and slip it back in his pocket.

 

He might be doomed to being a bad copy. He might be contemptible to anyone who had ever interacted with or known Tony in any way. Which, in tech fields, would be most everyone.

But he was going to read those text messages. Hammer hadn’t interacting with Tony in 20 years, but he was still…this. Isolated, undeniably toxic, pathetic and vile. If alone was the only thing on that list Phil could avoid, he’d have to give doing so some serious thought, and hope they could be strong enough to withstand the toxicity of his presence.

* * *

Signe truly did have a better tempter than others gave xyr credit for. But, just at the moment, it was being tested.

Xe was restructuring xyr life, xyr goals, xyr very identity for Phil, and he had run off for a lunch date with Justin Hammer and refused to let xyr join him.

Xe reminded xirself again that Phil rated xyr company as as important as xyr protection. Unfortunately, since xe considered Phil to have a blind spot when it came to matters of protection it was a cold comfort. At least this outing had gotten Phil to shave, shower, and presumably, eat.

 

Xe sighed, rolling over on the couch. Phil was out, but Alma and Jamie were within earshot if xe pitched xyr voice to carry. “Anyone want to play some blackjack? Straight or with cheats, I don’t care.”

 

Alma’s voice called out from her bedroom “Rhodey’s gonna be here in like, 5 minutes.”

 

Signe pushed xirself up on xyr elbows. “Really?” Xe stood, heading to Alma’s room. “Didn’t you tell him Phil isn’t here?”

 

Alma was sprawled on her belly on the bed. “Yep. He wanted to come anyways.”

 

Huh. Signe shrugged. A fine distraction, anyways. Signe did not hold the news Rhodey had delivered against him. “Do you think he’ll be hungry?”

 

“He said he ate on the jet. And he’s gonna have dinner at the tower.”

 

“Easy enough. Did he seem very upset with Phil?”

 

“I think he’s worried about everyone.” Alma answered without giving any useful information.

 

Signe sighed, rolling xyr eyes and plodding back to the couch in the living room. Surely the people Rhodey had warned them about were unhappy with Phil's new employment as well. Xe did not want to have to fight the government.

 

On the other hand, who did Hammer have contracts with? Perhaps those same people who were horrified a month ago would be pleased now Phil was offering up potential weapons to them, instead of to academia at large. Somehow that did not help.

 

Eventually there was a knock, and Signe rocked to xyr feet. “I’ll get it!”

 

Sure enough, there was Rhodey, in an old fashioned polo and khakis, with a small smile for xyr. Xe smiled back. A few minutes of greetings and a hug from Alma later, and Rhodey had claimed one of the armchairs.

 

Rhodey looked at them all for a moment, considering. “Ok, you guys. I’m happy to see you all, but I’d like a couple minutes of one on one time with Signe right now.”

Signe startled for a second before realizing _Oh._ Yes, of course he did. Jamie looked less than thrilled, but agreed. Alma looked downright guilty, which was telling, but also agreed, flitting out of the room before Signe could say a word. Signe sat on the couch, not one to be intimidated, and certainly not in front of Rhodey, who xe admired. Xe could ignore the fidgety, uncomfortable feeling in xyr stomach that felt a bit like anxiety and irritatingly like guilt.

 

Rhodey sat back, one hand on his chin, partly obscuring his mouth. For a long moment, he just watched xyr, thinking. “Ok, Signe. Alma told me what happened, but I want you to explain it to me.”

 

Signe leapt on the opportunity to explain, and did not restrain the due defensiveness in xyr voice. “I was defending my brother-“ he held up a hand to cut xyr off.

 

“So am I. But I’m gonna do it without blowing my top, so how about you do the same, ok?”

 

Signe paused at that. So was he? Oh, he was…defending his brother. His little brother, Tony.

Signe wanted to object, say that it wasn’t the same. But xe couldn’t doubt their relationship, their lack of blood connection could mean nothing to xyr. Rhodey had been protecting Tony since he was Jamie’s current age. And he was defending Tony despite Tony’s inexcusable behavior. But…xe was defending Phil despite his unethical actions. Rhodey had, in fact, every right to call xyr out on this. At least he was doing so politely. He even seemed to be listening, which was more than xe could ever be sure of from the others, so tangled in their roles in the tower.

 

Xe had not yet truly spoken of this with anyone. It had only taken a few rounds of xyr refusal for the others to take the hint and drop it. But since then, xe had lost some of the moral high ground. Xe wasn’t sure what to say.

 

Xe slowed down, considering. “Tony’s…” xe hesitated over use of the word _crimes_ , and settled on “ _failures_ , have been compounding. To the point where I can’t ignore them. What happened that morning was only a peak in ongoing issues.”

 

“You want to be a little more specific with that?” he asked dryly.

 

“Do you intend to defend him?”

 

“Maybe. It depends on what you say. I will be the first to admit Tony has his flaws- some pretty big ones. I’ve known him longer than anyone else currently in his life, I know. And it’s possible you’ve seen things changing that I haven’t. But since you clearly escalated what was going on, I’ll be honest with you, you’re gonna have a hard time convincing me you were completely in the right.”

 

Not an ideal answer, but it appealed to xyr sense of fairness. “Very well. My complaints against Tony are simple. He has failed to protect Phil, and has now rejected him, as he rejected Jamie years ago, completely without cause. And his drinking is unacceptable. I am tired of his continued influence over my brothers, since all it brings them is pain.”

 

“So you beat him up.”

 

“So I used violence. Yes. Because he hurt Jamie.” Xe held xyr chin up, It seemed slightly more an effort than the last time.

 

Rhodey leaned forward. “Ok, Signe. But I have to ask- did you really, honestly believe Tony was going to escalate? That he would hurt Jamie? Because if you did, then yeah, I can understand escalating things to end them fast. But if you were just mad, and scared, and looking for someone to take it out on, then that’s something else. Now I can believe a lot of things about Tony. I have seen him make some piss poor decisions. But that would not be high on my list. So are you sure, _really_ sure, that you weren’t just reacting the same way he was? Because you were scared for Phil?”

 

For some reason, this time, this tactic, it was harder for xyr to immediately deny it. Xe allowed silence to fall. He continued to watch her. “I’m gonna need and answer here. Is it possible, just _possible_ , that you lashed out partly because you yourself were scared or angry or guilty because of what was going on with Phil? I mean, I would have been terrified if I’d been there.”

 

 Signe may have given up on heroism, but xe was no liar. Xe had already admitted to Phil that xyr actions were no mere impulse, but instead deliberate. And xe had admitted to xirself that xe had hurt Tony beyond what was required simply because xe had wished to. The wish may have been fair, but the level of force was more than xe could ever have truly required to stop Tony. Xe could have contained him without major injury.Xe felt xyr eyes drop. ”Maybe.”

 

“The grape vine tells me Tony’s not holding a grudge on this one. Think you two could move towards a reconciliation?”

 

Xe stiffened again, caught between started, relived and offended. “That doesn’t change my other concerns.”

 

“Ok, fine. Let’s talk about your other concerns”

 

“This is not-“

 

He interrupted xyr with a held up hand again. “Do not. Don’t tell me this isn’t my business, or my place. I normally keep out of these things because you all are capable of sorting them out yourselves. But if that’s not happening you can expect me to show up. Tony’s family is my family. You are not gonna fight me on this.”

 

Signe’s gaze dipped to the side again.

 

“Now, Tony didn’t protect him. Ok, fine. You’re right.” Xe looked back up at him again. “Phil was hurt in an attack that he got caught in because of the team. But that’s on the team as a whole. You don’t pick a scapegoat for the failings of a unit. And yeah, Phil is Tony’s kid in particular. But I can’t believe that you actually forgot that _anyone_ on that team would give their life for any of you kids. There is no question about that. There can not be any question about that. They share the risks, they share the blame. That’s just how it goes. You know better.”

 

“He could have built Phil a suit” xe objected.

 

Rhodey actually laughed. “Are you kidding me? Oh, do not let Phil hear you say that. Signe, Phil’s been working on the armor since he was two. He knows those systems like you know English. If Phil wanted a suit, he’d have _made_ one. They might not have wanted him putting a lot of weaponry in it, but armor and flight capability? Sure.”

 

“Then why-“

 

“Because it would make him a _target_. All those people sniffing around here trying to figure you kids out? Would have gotten here a lot sooner. Phil’s not a fighter. I don’t blame him for not wanting to look like one.”

 

“Then why hasn’t he called?” Xe couldn’t keep the pain out of xyr voice. “If he wants Phil then why has he rejected him? Why did he reject Jamie?”

 

“Alma said Tony came over here looking for Phil yesterday.”

 

“And of the weeks before that?”

 

Rhodey leaned back in his chair again with a sigh. He gave the smallest gesture with one hand. “That’s just…” another sigh. “Ok look, that’s Tony being chicken shit. He’s like that. Save the world, get shot at, fight aliens or whatever, sure. But if he thinks he’s gonna get shot down when it actually matters he goes into hiding, or just doesn’t say anything. He’s always done that. Its not one of his better features, but it’s not rejection. He took 12 years to ask out Pepper and even then he had to wait for her to kiss him. And now 14 years with Steve which just- don’t get me started how much that pisses me off. Hell, he ran off on me for years after we graduated because he couldn’t man up enough to have a couple conversations. But it’s not rejection. If Tony rejects someone, he does it loud. Not with silence. Go ahead and be mad about it, but don’t take it for rejection. It’s only even a problem because Phil does the exact same thing so they stalemate, and then people like me, and you, have to step in. It’s stupid, but it’s not rejection.”

 

Signe leaned in. “Can you be certain, completely certain, That Tony wants Phil back? That he will accept Phil, damaged as he is?”

 

Rhodey leaned in, a picture of certainty. “Yes.”

 

“Because Phil couldn’t handle that-“

 

“ _Yes,_ ok?  If I’m wrong about that than he’s been replaced by scrull again and I’ll shoot him in the head myself. If you are really stressing about this then I will make him call you when I get to the tower. But I have no doubts here.”

 

Xe looked at him, searching his face. But there was no doubt, no hesitation. And Rhodey did have a certain level of expertise when it came to Tony. Xe had never had cause not to trust him before.

 

It would be better, it would be so much better if Tony truly wanted Phil back. For Phil, at least. Not just willing to accept him back if asked, as Phil believed.

 

Xir voice was softer. “And Jamie?”

 

“I’m not going to try to defend that. I don’t like what you did but that does not make what he did to Jamie acceptable.”

 

Xe shook xyr head. “No, not that. That was awful, but it is Jamie’s insult and he insists on forgiving it. But there is an older slight he can’t even remember. Tony once treated Jamie as his. It was years ago, but I haven’t forgotten. Not ever. He once treated Jamie as his own. Then he just _stopped_. Why? Do you know? Why he’s already rejected one child? What possible justification can you give me for that?”

 

Rhodey was watching xyr, confused. “You mean when he was like, 4?”

 

Signe leapt to xyr feet, couldn’t help it. “I knew it! I knew I couldn’t have imagined it! He used to love Jamie. Why did he stop?” xe demanded, anger and something more aching rising in xyr.

 

Rhodey watched xyr again. “You remember that.”

 

“I was older. It was obvious.”

 

Rhodey ran a hand over his face, leaning back again. “Ok. This is...probably not my place but…ok.” He collected his thoughts. “I actually know something about it. It really-“ he cut off, looking over Signe’s shoulder. Xe followed his gaze, and there was Jamie, standing in the doorway again, face serious and somber. “Yeah. Ok. Come on in here. This is your business.” He waved Jamie in, and Jamie came, silently. He stood by the couch, but didn’t sit.

 

Rhodey collected himself again, and spoke. “Tony called me about this, back when it happened. Then more, over the years. He was really broken up about it. Because yeah, he used to act like Jamie was his kid too. But one day…and I’m still not sure what started it…he decided it wasn’t right for him to try to be your dad. Not when you already had a dad. He had Phil, and Pepper, and Steve didn’t have anybody. Except you. Just Jamie.

 

“So he made a deliberate choice to back off, give Steve some room. He said Steve was probably going to be a better father anyways, so you wouldn’t be missing out. As far as I know he never told Steve any of this. He didn’t want him to feel guilty. Or maybe he just didn’t want to feel guilty after 'fessing up how bad he wanted to keep you.”

 

Rhodey shrugged. “I don’t know if you call that justified. Like I said, Tony doesn’t always have stellar decision making skills. But it wasn’t about rejecting Jamie, it was about trying to respect Jamie’s relationship to Steve.He’s told me more than once that it was one of the hardest things he’s ever had to do.” He shook his head. “I don’t know what else to tell you. I don’t know if he was right, but it came from a good place. I don’t think it’s changed his feelings at all. He was just trying to stay out of the way.”

 

Xe looked at Jamie. Xe hadn’t meant this to be in front of him, but Rhodey was right, it was more his business than xirs after all. Jamie looked calm, but thoughtful. There was a beat of silence before he lifted his head, looking at Signe. “Told you so.”

 

It was so unexpectedly immature and matter of fact it caught xyr off guard, and xe laughed weakly.

 

Well, clearly Jamie considered that plausible. Rhodey was smiling in an understated, but clearly sentimental way at Jamie. Jamie looked back at him. “Thanks, Rhodey.”

 

Rhodey nodded acknowledgment, then glanced back at Signe. “So then that just leaves the drinking. Which I suspect is about to settle down anyways, but if it doesn’t, yeah we’ll intervene. It sounds like he’s been getting worse again. Which can happen. But he can do better than this, and I think he will.”

 

Signe sat back. It was all a lot to take in. Assumptions xe’d had for 10 years shifting suddenly under xyr. Xe looked back at Jamie, who crossed his arms and gave her a _Well?_ look that looked exactly like Ms Potts and strongly suggested he considered the matter closed. He still wanted Signe to make up with Tony. Clearly, so did Phil, provided xe could also be trusted around the man. If he could be trusted with Phil, perhaps there would be more chance of their returning home, of not needing to be exiles. Xe was really coming to hate this place.

 

Signe ran a hand through xyr hair. “Very well. I will apologize.”

 

The both brightened visibly. Xe sighed. They both clearly believed that would end the matter. It was strange how no one else seemed to recognize the ramifications of the event itself. How they didn’t recognize what Signe’s actions said about xyr. About xyr place in their tower. If Signe was truly in the wrong with regards to Tony, it was only more proof of Phil's belief that Xe was not someone who belonged among xyr family, nor among heroes.

 

Signe shook off that line of thought, settling xyr sights on those still with xyr. Xe leaned back, studying Jamie, whose orders must have precipitated this meeting, which would secure Signe’s apology to Tony. Jamie and Alma’s best attempt to create peace. “Alma makes a very good operative for you.”

 

Alma’s voice rang down the hall. “Thank you!”

 

Signe rolled xyr eyes with a small smile. Xe loved them all so much. Rhodey smiled, apparently having been content with the illusion of privacy. He addressed Jamie “Yeah, Alma told me about your promotion. Congratulations.”

 

Jamie shifted his feet, uncomfortably, tilting his head to display his skepticism. “It’s dumb.”

 

“Not if they’re actually listening to you, it’s not. You four are going to end up some of the most influential people on the planet, 10, 20 years from now. If you can actually coordinate, that’s a pretty big deal.”

Signe nodded, sadly. For better or worse, their actions would matter. but Jamie looked confused. Alma’s voice rang out down the hall again. “Can I stop pretending I’m giving you privacy now?”

Jamie answered. “Yeah!”

 

Alma skipped into view, snagging Jamie in a quick hug before dropping sideways onto Signe’s lap for another one. Signe pulled her close, anxious as much as affectionate.“Much better! Now Phil just has to stop being crazy and everything will be ok again! I’m so good at following orders. Wait till you see the surprise. It’s still classified, though, till I’m sure. Oh! Jamie are you gonna call Tony ‘dad’ now like Phil does? That would be soooo cute!”

 

Jamie ignored that, looking back at Rhodey. “Sorry you missed Phil. Do you want to come for dinner tomorrow?”

 

Another nod. “I’d be happy to.”

 

“Woo-hoo!” Alma enthused, rolling off Signe’s lap onto the carpet to land cross-legged at xyr feet.

 

“I’ll make sure he comes out for it. I could take that door off fairly easily, if need be.” Signe offered. They may not belong in the tower or with the team anymore, but that was no excuse for poor hospitality, and rudeness wouldn’t help anybody. Alma snickered. Jamie smirked.

 

“Do that.” Rhodey agreed, standing. “I’ll be here.”

 

* * *

Tony knew he was in for it. He’d been ducking Rhodey’s calls and sending the shortest possible, heavily edited text and email responses to Rhodey’s contact attempts. Not the first time he’d done it, not even the most severely he’d done it. But he knew Rhodey was gonna be pissed about it because he always was. At least he’d found out Alma had been leaking information, so he wouldn’t have to actually _explain_ anything. Which had made getting her Banner’s info easier to take, since that way she could be the one to break all the bad news. As long as Banner called her back. And Rhodey was showing up, so he wasn’t just done with Tony, so that was all right.

 

He was hanging out in Pepper’s place, with Pepper and Steve, waiting for Rhodey to show up. He’d been dodging his own apartment for two months now, and now that he was welcome to move from apartment to apartment, he was taking advantage of it. Besides, Pepper and Steve were worried about Rhodey’s arrival to. Apparently Tony hadn’t been the only one failing to return calls.

Really, they should have, like, a combined living space. An all-family living room, so he didn’t have to pick which place to be, cut down on this subdivision bullshit. He wondered, distantly, if there was any outside chance of the others ever agreeing to that, as long as they had their own good-sized private suites as well. Really, having this many separate kitchens was just stupid. Wow this was the second time in two days he’d been thinking about shared living quarters. He was…nesting, or something. Trying to secure his access to everyone left.

 

He heard tapping, and glanced over where Pepper was typing away on the arm of the couch that wasn’t occupied with Tony and Steve. She still looked physically tired, but the sharp, bright, focused look that was supposed to be in her eyes was back. It made the world feel a little more like it was in the right shape again. He leaned, and could make out some kind of legalese on the screen. “I thought you took the week off.”

 

Pepper’s voice was calm, controlled fury, with an intriguing undercurrent of satisfaction. “I did, this is for pleasure.”

 

“Oh, yeah baby. Litigative language. You know how to party.”

 

She smiled tightly. “I do, actually.”

 

Steve looked at her, sweetly concerned. “Can’t they do without you for a week? That doesn’t seem like too much to ask.”

 

“Yes, they can. But I wanted to have my hands in this one. I’m tracking down every business contact, partnership, and supplier that that snake has.”

 

Tony raised his eyebrows, looking at her. Yep, that was Pepper’s shark face. A little corporate warfare. Oh, it’d been ages. Tony’d been involved with innumerable acquisitions, takeovers, what-have-you, but an honest-to-God attack, for the sake of it? “Deal me in?”

 

She didn’t even look up, but she smiled, and slid a spare tablet over to Tony. Tony picked it up and settled in, leaning against Steve. He couldn’t just go beat the shit out of Hammer, that wasn’t how this was played, but this, this was perfectly legal. And less likely to get Phil in trouble than digging for blackmailables to send to SHEILD or the military.

 

About half a minute of reading, her expression morphed to tight-lipped rage, and she froze still. Tony and Steve looked at her questioningly. She tried to speak. Went silent again, closing her eyes. “They have significant research ties to the regional hospital.”

 

Tony frowned, “The- which hospital?” He sat up, putting it together. “They one we took Phil to? The one-“ the one where they’d inappropriately discharged Phil _twice._ The one the Avengers used regularly for medical issues that weren’t SHEILD grade weird. The one Tony had recently allowed to anesthetize him, cut him open, and place metal mesh on his bones. The one where Phil had been, unconscious, repeatedly in the past two months. “How the hell could that-“

 

Now she started to look upset- guilty probably, through the haze of outrage. “The grant is 3 shells deep. Under a _lot_ of digging. But it’s there. And it would hardly take anything to have an “accident” with data sharing. Oh I am going to _bury_ them.” she finished with a refined snarl.

 

Tony’s back moved as Steve exhaled slowly, purposefully. “That’s how he knew how to find Phil. How he had access, could get to him when he was-“

 

“Bury. Them.” Pepper reiterated.

 

Jarvis interrupted politely, “General Rhodes is currently in the lobby.”

 

“Yeah, let him up.” Tony answered, trying to wrap his head around this. It wasn’t complicated, it just…he was mentally cataloguing all the vulnerability his family had been subject to without even knowing for…god…years…

 

He was still in a mildly dazed state, wondering what he should do about his next follow-up appointment for his shoulder when the door knocked, and answered a “Yeah!” of an invitation on automatic.

Pepper was already on her phone. “Natasha? Could you do me a favor-“

 

Rhodey entered, face thundery and unimpressed with everything. Pepper shot Rhodey an apologetic look over her shoulder, but didn’t get off the phone. Probably meant Tony should handle greetings. Tony shoved upwards, and, in what was becoming the new norm, Steve stood hurriedly to help him, holding on just a hair longer than was necessary. “Hey. Hi. Uhm.”

 

Pepper stood, “I’m really sorry. Honestly, I’ll be right back-“ she said, exiting the room for quiet. Or to try and avoid her section of the Rhodey lecture, since Rhodes wasn’t prone to repeating himself when sober.

 

Rhodey wasn’t happy with this. “Oh, _now_ she’s on the phone. I see how it is.”

 

“Sorry, she’s in the middle of a …I’m not really sure, but it’s probably legal and definitely warranted, so.” He shrugged. He noticed, belatedly that Steve’s hand was still on his back. Still not shy.

There was a silent minute as Rhodey treated Tony, then Steve, then Tony again (making up for Pepper’s absence, presumably) to piercing, angry looks. Finally, he decided to use his words, which were definitely louder than they needed to be. “Alma. _Alma._ The 12 year old. That’s who I have to rely on for my information now. Her and the _news._ I have to find out what’s going on from news sources. Are you serious? Is that how we’re doing this now?”

 

Tony grimaced openly, a pretty clear admission of guilt, since he couldn’t really say anything to that. Well, not that that would stop him. “Should’ve tried Clint. He’s stayed more-or-less sane. He says hi, by the way, and told me to send you down for cool-off beers if you’re at less than a Richter scale 7 angry.”

 

Rhodey just gave him the most _done_ expression Tony had ever seen, and he was a champion collector of that expression. World expert in that face.

 

Tony just wince/grimaced again, and shrugged. “Ah…good to see you now? I’m really not sure what ah-“

 

Pepper paused where she was pacing the hall, talking quietly on her phone, and called to him, no admonition in her voice “Apology, Tony.” She sent another apologetic look at Rhodey again, and held up a finder. “Sorry Rhodey. Honestly, one more minute.”

 

Rogers, that goody-two-shoes beat him to it. “Sorry. I know we all dropped off the network there for a little while, me included.”

 

“Yeah what he said.” Tony agreed. Except, no, that really wasn’t a very good apology and quality apologies seemed to be the glue holding his life together lately, so he tried again. He dropped the off-the-cuff routine, and tried again. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to cut you out of the loop. Just kind of…lost in” he gestured in the general area of his head. “You know how I am. Sorry, though.”

 

Rhodey nodded, still mad. “Yeah, you suck at human communication, I know. This-“ he gestured and Steve’s hand on Tony’s waist “kind of a good example.”

 

Tony drew back up a little at that. “Yeah, about that. That? The delay- totally your fault.”

 

“ _My_ fault” 

 

“Yeah, you’re the one who told me to back off way back at the start-“

 

“No, I told you not to be a creeper. I stand by that. I still stand by that.” He directed his attention to Steve. “You though, you are one stealthy son of a bitch. I would not have guessed.”

Tony smiled, relaxing some. “He was pining in secret.”

 

Steve very openly rolled his eyes. “Did everyone know about this but me?”

 

“Y’know, I still want to know what Natasha-“

 

“ _Later._ ” Steve interrupted firmly.

Rhodey rolled his own eyes, walking to sit at the counter. “Uh-huh. This is not an excuse for you to go back to drunk dialing me to wax rhapsodic about Steve’s abs, just so you know.” Steve’s eyes widened at the lack of sarcasm on Rhodey's tone. Tony was about to object that that had been _once,_ but shut his mouth with a quiet snap, since he wasn’t actually 100% sure about that. “In fact, I’m kind of hoping the drinking is going to start settling down some?”

 

It wasn’t exactly a guilt trip. It was just that Rhodey did know Tony well, and that Tony would be less likely to drink when he was for-real dating somebody. So he settled on a simple. “Yuh-huh.” And put his good hand in his pocket.

 

Pepper came back then, putting her phone in a pocket. “I’m sorry about that. I wanted to get some HIPPA investigations rolling, and get a couple of searches started.” With Natasha, not legal, Tony noticed. But nobody commented on it. She put her hand on Rhodey’s. “I’m so sorry I’ve been out of communication. I’ve been an absolute zombie lately.”

 

“She has.” Tony backed her up, receiving a very mild _look_ from her in return.

 

Rhodey still looked grumpy, but not yelling-angry.He focused on Tony. “I told you not to drop off my radar again, you remember that? This is the 4th time. Do not do it again. I am too old for this shit.”

Tony nodded. “Sure thing, boss.” He took a few steps forward. “So hey, how’r things in never-never land?”

 

“The kids condo?” Rhodey clarified. Tony nodded. Rhodey leaned back, a tell, a smug tell. “Well, I hope the grapevine was right that you’re not holding a grudge, because that’s what I told Signe.”

Tony found that suddenly the casual eye contact from a second ago was a little too sharp, and let his eyes flick over to the side. He’d known Rhodey would know about that. That and Tony’s failure to remove the nanites where the top two reasons Tony hadn’t called him.Keep it simple. “Yep. Not my preferred method, but hard to argue with the goal.”

 

Ugh Tony could _feel_ Rhodey’s eyes on him, pricking his skin like flesh deprived of blood for too long. Tony looked a little more to the side, down at the counter, back up again. He tapped the counter a couple times, just for good measure, wishing someone would say something and take the focus off him, off this. Off his obvious inability to find appropriate responses to this.

 

Pepper rescued him. “What did she say?”

 

“She said she’s prepared to apologize if Tony is, put this behind them. And that she hopes Tony’ll back off the booze.”

 

Tony blinked turning to stare at Rhodey. “Seriously?” Rhodey nodded. “What the hell did you say to him?”

 

Rhodey shrugged, easily. “Sometimes you just need someone from outside the inner circle. I had an aunt everybody used to always go to. Figured it was worth a try. Phil wasn’t home, so I’m going back for diner tomorrow.”

 

Tony really, really wished someone over the age of 17 had actually seen or heard from Phil since he’d left. Part of him couldn’t help but imagine how bad Phil could be right now, without any of them knowing about it. How close to the razor’s edge. He wanted to trust the kids, he did. But it was hard.

 

They’d all sent Phil messages today. Everyone. So far, nothing back. Tony nodded, tightly.

 

But Signe willing to make up! That was great news. Another person who kind of probably didn’t hate him after all. And Rhodey’d got an invite back. Steve put his hand on Tony’s arm, and Tony realized belatedly he was probably looking overtly rattled. He patted Steve’s hand in reassurance and thanks. Then looked at Rhodey squarely. “See what you can do with him, ok?”

 

Rhodey nodded slowly, expression softened with empathy. Little too gentle. Lots of that going around. Well, there were worse things.

 

Tony’s, Pepper’s and Steve’s phones all pinged a new text at once. Had to be the kids. Tony got his out the fastest, nearly fumbling it in haste. **Phil: Thanks.**

 

Tony didn’t know whether to be giddy with relief or angry at the utter inadequacy of the message. He’d asked Phil to call him, and what he got back was “Thanks”? What did that even mean? He leaned over, and there was a moment of them all looking over to establish that they’d all gotten the same mass text. Cheap.

 

“That’s _it_?” Tony objected aloud. Rhodey gave him a _now you know how it feels_ look, but didn’t actually say anything.

 

“It’s something.” Pepper said, still looking down at her phone. It wasn’t resignation, it was hope.

 

Tony shrugged his eyebrows. It was something. Maybe a first step.

 

* * *

 

Jamie rummaged through the cabinets in the kitchen. Food for Rhodey. Well, food for all of them, but with Rhodey coming to. And Rhodey would be reporting back to the adults, for sure. Jamie wanted to show them he could do this.

 

Although, maybe he should let on that they were struggling a little more than they’d shown so far. Maybe that would bring over a little more help.

 

But when pop and mom had been here yesterday, they hadn’t questioned his capability. And that felt _so good._ Still, if he needed it…he could call in more help. He had to remember that.

Signe’s concerned voice kept that at the forefront of his mind. “Alma?”

 

Jamie’s head came up. He could only see the back of Signe’s head from the kitchen, but Alma he could see in profile. She was frozen, staring at her phone held in front of her. She didn’t respond to Signe at first. He mouth opened, and her neck twitched as if she was going to look at Signe, but didn’t really move. Her mouth closed. He couldn’t tell if this was a good reaction or a bad one- nothing beyond shock.

 

Alma bit her lip, eyebrows drawn together and a tiny, very high noise slipped out. She blinked a few times. Jamie rushed out around the counter, Signe was already reaching for Alma.

 

Then Alma burst into a wide, if still teary smile. The sound she made was just between a laugh and a small sob. Jamie and Signe paused in place. Alma looked up, and she was grinning with tears in her eyes.“He’s coming home.” This time the sound was definitely a laugh. “He’s almost here.”

 

Alma turned over her phone, showing the screen. It was a text from a foreign number. **Sorry I took so long to respond. My phone was damaged. I’ll be there soon.**

 

Jamie shook his head, confused. Rhodey’s phone number was in her phone, so who would that be? Alma looked up at him. She looked hopeful in such a bare, complete way. “You said call for help. So I did. And he’s coming home.”

 

Coming home? Who else but them needed to go home?

 

Except. Jamie’s mouth dropped open. “You got _Bruce_?!”

 

Alma's smile widened, and she nodded. “Tony helped! And now he’s coming home!”

 

Signe snapped her head around to Jamie, eyes just as wide. “If there’s anyone Phil will listen to now-“

 

Jamie nodded, numbly. Phil had been as upset by Bruce leaving as Alma had been, in his own way. He couldn’t take it on faith that Bruce had had the family’s best interest at heart, like Alma had.

Alma was still grinning, still crying. “Pretty good, right? I’m a pretty good liaison. You said call in backup so I did. Right?”

 

Signe turned back to look at Alma. “Alma, you’re a genius!”

 

Alma grinned harder, and Signe wrapped her up in a tight hug.

 

Jamie sat down on the chair. Bruce coming back. Well, Phil wanted confirmation the adults wanted him around. What could be more proof than Bruce coming back after years of being in hiding by himself?

Alma squirmed around to poke Jamie’s leg with her toes. “C’mon. Tell me what a good job I did.”

 

Jamie stared at her another second. She was bringing back Bruce. He nodded, slowly. Phil had usually listed to Bruce. Had respected him. “I’m impressed.”

 

Alma grinned, and leaned into Signe, sniffling and smiling.

 

And Alma would have Bruce back. Or, at least get to see him. 

 

* * *

 

Phil hadn’t made up his mind yet whether he’d come to dinner with Rhodey tonight. He had a suspicion he was going to get yelled at if he did. But Rhodey was staying at the tower, with the adults. He’d seen them, for more than an hour. And Phil couldn’t hurt anyone just be _asking_ about them, right? He was leaning towards going. He could always leave if Rhodey got on his case too hard.

He’d finally reached the point of not jumping if a recognized hand landed on his shoulder, so he didn’t leap off his chair when Jamie’s hand landed on him with unusual speed and urgency. He turned, and grabbed fast for his glasses at the wide-eyed, urgent look on Jamie’s face. Jamie waited, barely patient enough for Phil to get his glasses on before blurting out. **JAMIE: Bruce is here.**

Phil took a second to parse that. Bruce who? Phil only really knew one Bruce but since it couldn’t _be_ that Bruce- he looked at Jamie’s face again: serious and shocked. And he knew that the Bruce Phil thought of when he heard the name would pretty much always be _that_ Bruce.

Phil stared at him a second longer, looking for some indication he was leaping to a stupid conclusion, then “Bruce? _Bruce-_ Bruce?” Jamie nodded. “ _Here?”_

Movement at the corner of his eye caught his attention. Two figures hovered in the door. One was Alma, clinging hard to the arm of a tanned, shlubby, hobo-bearded man in a suit that had seen better decades. His posture was reserved, and he was fiddling with a pair of glasses he was holding in front of him. It wasn’t quite the face, the body he was expecting. But after 6 years...

Phil realized he’d stood up, and was staring. Nervous dark eyes were giving him the same once-over. The face of a man that didn’t want to be here but had his reasons, looking Phil over. Assessing. Concerned. Phil had changed more, of the two of them. His throat worked. Bruce. Oh God, if anyone would understand- if anyone would _get it-_ “ _Bruce?_ ” His throat was suddenly too small and he must have sounded strange.

**BRUCE: Hi.** Bruce gave the tiniest wave with his own glasses.

“Holy shit.” He took half a step forward. “Holy shit. You’re back.”

Bruce nodded with an uncomfortable, but genuine smile. **I’m back.** Alma beamed with tears in her eyes. Bruce gave her a requesting look, and she pouted, clinging. He smiled apologetically, and gave her a fast, sincere hug that had Phil crawling with envy. She seemed to accept that, and left the doorway, back into the living room with one more squeeze of Bruce’s hand as she left. Bruce looked behind Phil, at Jamie.

Jamie’s hand landed on Phil’s arms again, this time with a light squeeze of his own as he passed Phil. **JAMIE: Dinner at 6.**

Phil nodded, numbly. As Jamie left, Bruce finally committed, and came into the workshop, closing the door gently behind him and actually walking over towards Phil. Phil himself only managed a step or two. “Oh my God, I can’t believe you’re here.”

**BRUCE: It ah. It was time. I saw what happened.**

Phil’s eyes may have gone even a little wider. “To me? You came back because of _me?”_ He’d shown up _because_ Phil was a broken mess. The perfect opposite of running away. _“_ Holy shit. Are you staying?” wow yeah he probably sounded totally desperate and right this second he just couldn’t care. Bruce. Here.

Bruce nodded, slightly, still fiddling with his glasses. **That’s the plan.**

Phil reached out and grabbed both Bruce’s arms in a tight grip before he could think not to. “I bet Alma and Signe could share a room part time. Oh my God. This is great!” He found himself smiling, even if his eyes did feel a little over-warm and his chest felt a bit too tight. Bruce was as toxic, as dangerous as Phil. So Phil wouldn’t be able to hurt him, right? And Bruce would _understand_. Bruce knew about being desperate to fix yourself at any cost. About wanting to maintain some control over your life. About needing to leave. He must know about being alone, to. And he’d come back. For Phil.

Bruce had a huge personal space bubble. Phil remembered that much. But, this was a special occasion, right? He sort of…put his arms out in front of him, an awkward invitation, wanting a piece of what Alma’d been given. His weight shifted foot to foot, just in case he had to retreat. But Bruce just gave him the saddest smile ever and reached his own arms out. Phil had juuust enough self control left not to launch himself at the guy, but not enough not to linger. Bruce returned the touch, a little too careful, but that was fine. That was totally fine because Bruce wouldn’t judge him for this, not after 6 years alone. He’d understand.

Phil exhaled, almost dizzy with relief. His chest bubbled with what might have been laughter. Finally, someone he couldn’t hurt no matter how much he clung.

Eventually Bruce took a tiny half step back, and Phil let him go, still grinning. His eyes burned, blurred a little. “Ah, Welcome home. Or…or back. It’s so good to see you.”

Despite the intimacy of the contact, Bruce was hesitant, nervous. **Mind if I sit?**

Phil nearly lunged for his office chair, dragging it over. A year ago, 3 months ago, Phil would have been at least a little angry at Bruce for leaving in the first place. For leaving without saying anything to anyone, anything to him. But not now. Phil understood now. “I will. I’ll ask the girls to share a room. Alma’s only here half time anyways, so-“

Bruce held up a hand, not stopping him, just slowing things down. “Ok, I’m staying in New York, but not necessarily right here.”

Phil's face fell, just a bit. He tried to cling to some kind of positivity. “Oh. Right. Yeah. OK, that’s fine. But I mean you’ll be close by, right?” He’d come back for Phil, so he wouldn’t be leaving. Right? Unless…he hadn’t come back for Phil? Come back for…for Tony maybe? Or Alma? If Phil was messing up everyones lives, he could be back for anybody…

Bruce pulled back a little, looking slightly to the side and running his hand over the side of his neck, trying to figure out how to say something unpleasant. Phil felt his stomach knot, then roll over. But his words didn’t seem to match his braced posture. Y **eah, I’ll be close by.** Phil waited, there was another shoe waiting to drop here, he could tell, even without tone. Bruce’s eyes flicked down, he fidgeted a little with his glasses, polishing them on a worn out blazer corner. **Phil, when I saw what happened, with the tower…there was footage up online. By the time I saw the story, they were already reporting injuries. _Your_ injury.** A cloud passed over Bruce’s face before he looked back up at Phil. **I broke a 5 year streak, with that.**

Phil could guess what the streak was. Understood it’s value. Bruce had been able to minimize his contact with his most broken parts for 5 years. But that had fallen when Phil fell out of the tower. Ok, so…so he had hurt Bruce. But that- even now, he couldn’t consider that his own fault. The teams fault, maybe. All he’d been doing was sleeping…and ok, maybe not evacuating as fast as would have been ideal.

He’d released his grip on Bruce, and without realizing, he’d also dropped his eyes to the side. He was surprised by Bruce's tentative hand on his wrist, trying to get Phil’s attention again. The contact prompted Phil’s eyes back up. Bruce’s gaze was steady now. **BRUCE: Phil, leaving- my leaving- didn’t help. Didn’t fix anything. It helped for a while, but not when it mattered. When it came down to it, being gone didn’t sever ties. Not on my end, anyways.**

Phil stared. He was tired, exhausted, and his brain wasn’t firing on all cylinders, but Bruce was pretty obviously trying to make more than one point here. Bruce shifted, angling his body towards Phil, and he felt trapped. **You’re right, my coming back was prompted by you. I’ve talked a little with Alma. I think, I think I have some idea what’s going on with you, right now. I think I get it. But maybe I’m wrong. So you tell me- why wouldn’t you come see everyone when they came to visit?**

Phil swallowed, hard. Bruce understanding was…he wanted that to be the case to an almost painful degree. But if he was wrong…his throat closed around an explanation. Bruce was an anchor. Phil hadn’t seen him in 6 years. He didn’t want to chase him off now.

But as Phil stared at the man he’d known his whole life, he took in the tired eyes, the greyed hair, the sense of weariness bordering on resignation. The hunched posture. Maybe Bruce couldn’t really get many better options than what Phil could.He tried to speak around the tightness. “When it’s all of them…all together, the text goes too fast and I can’t-“ his vision blurred, pissing him off. “I can’t keep up. I can’t talk to them. Literally _can’t_. And I-“ he looked down.

**BRUCE: You didn’t want to tell them that.** Bruce filled in, understanding. Phil looked up again, trying to gauge Bruce’s reaction. **You didn’t want them to see you as being too screwed up.** He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but it wasn’t the bitter little smile Bruce was wearing. He looked close, but it wasn’t a mocking smile, it was _bitter._ **Y’know, with that attitude, I think you’re _almost_ screwed up enough to be an Avenger yourself.**

Phil didn’t know what to think of a statement like that. He knew that trying to keep your own fuckups and broken parts out from under peoples feet was part of being an adult. Bruce seemed to refuse on Phil again. **BRUCE: You know they still want you, right?**

Phil hesitated a second, not because he didn’t know the answer, but because the temptation was so uncomfortable. “I- they…they texted me. This morning. All of them,” he looked down again. “But nothing before that.”

**Phil.** This time Phil looked up, without having any tone cue at all. This time, Bruce's expression did hold a little pity, but more of a _calling-you-on-your-bullshit_ face than anything. A _you-should-know-better_ look.

Phil glared halfheartedly. “Don’t give me that. I’m a wreck- why _shouldn’t_ they want me out of their hair?”

Bruce settled back with a wry expression. **At this point, I don’t think any amount of common sense or risk assessment will make any difference. People are going to love who they’re going to love.**

Phil took a half a step back, crossing his arms and holding them tight across his stomach.It was easy to believe they wanted him back, at least a little bit. It was the kind of easy that came from believing something without cause, without thought. Believing out of blind faith, or wishful thinking. “I’m- I’m _toxic_. Even if they do love me, shouldn’t I-…I can’t go back and fuck everything up for everybody. Not if I have to be there for it. Not if I have to see them be hurt.” He gathered a tiny bit of courage, just enough to look Bruce in the eye with a glimmer of challenge. “You should get this. That’s why you left. Because it was bad for them if you were there. Right? That’s what you told Alma.” He stepped forward, and Bruce’s slight lean suggested he’d been loud again. “If they love me- that shouldn’t even matter, right? If I love them, I should…” he felt the click of his voice failing him, and let it shut off. Bruce would know the rest.

Bruce nodded, thoughtfully, a hint of his own nerves back, as he put on his glasses. **Maybe. Maybe.** He looked Phil over. **But only if you’re sure the problems from you being there are worse than the problems of you not being there.**

Phil felt his face move to an actual snarl. “No problem there.” He leaned against his workbench. “They seem to be doing just peachy without me. From what I’ve overheard, dad and Steve are dating now, dad’s suddenly sober…yeah, I think they’re coping.”

**You should check on them.**

Phil looked down again, shaking his head. If he did that, he’d end up bawling, begging to come home where he didn’t have to worry about how the hell he was supposed to make it on his own, how to get food, how to deal with having an evil boss…

**Because you’re toxic?**

Phil shrugged, not looking up. He wondered if Bruce was going to tell him he wasn’t really toxic. If he’d try to reassure him. That was more or less was he expected, so he flinched when he heard. **Ok, maybe you are.** There was a pause. **I’m not really an expert on that, and I haven’t seen you in years, so I can’t really attest to it.** Ouch. He’d expected reassurances, maybe not useful ones, or ones he’d listen to, but still. He looked up at Bruce, letting a little incredulousness show. Bruce registered that, and shrugged. **You said it, not me. And frankly, you were a hell of a handful as a little kid. I don’t know what you’re like as a teenager.**

Phil dropped his head a little. This was not helping, and his chest tightened to match the knot in his gut. **But it’s pretty clear to me you miss them, and I can not imagine them not missing you. So, it’s just that getting in the way.** Another pause. **So, it comes down to figuring out how to fix it.**

Phil brought his head up, blinking as Bruce. His head cleared a little, and his spine straightened. “Oh. Yeah. You wanna see?” he pushed off where he was leaning, grabbing a hologram- the overall schematics, to bring in front of Bruce, who looked them over with a critical eye. He warmed to the subject. Talking science with Bruce. That was a piece of home. “I think I’ll be ready for the next trial in mid summer, sometime. The basic repair mechanism is pretty standard stem cell printing, it’s more a matter of handling the perils of being actually in a brain at this point.” This wasn’t really Bruce’s area of specialty, but Bruce was always fast on the uptake. Maybe he’d even help-

Bruce glanced over the schematics, then back up at Phil. There was something disapproving in his expression that hurt, cut too sharply. The corners of his mouth moved, it was like a smile, but without even the parody of humor. **Fix your hearing? That’s your solution?**

The words were like a precipice, suddenly under his feet, not quite knocking him down, but close, so close. Like a wall crumbling to just the edge of his toes, and he waited for a breathless second, seeing if it would crumble further.

This was what he knew how to do. This was the set of tools he had. His last potential out. His heart started hammering, this was so close to how he’d felt at the grocery store. Hopeless, helpless, and this time, with Bruce’s sharp, dark eyes watching him with unnerving directness. **Phil, your family is mostly Avengers, plus your siblings, a former Avenger, and your mom, who might not have any armor, but she’s had a hand in bringing down more than one bad guy, including your current boss. You really think you not being able to hear is going to-** Bruce cut off with what looked like a sigh.

**Phil, that’s…** he held his hands out, looking for a words, he licked his lips **stupid. You know better than that.**

Phil backed up a step. “Well that’s the only part I can fix! If that doesn’t do it then- then…” he was starting to hyperventilate.

Bruce flinched an apology, reaching out a hand without making contact, trying to calm Phil down, calm the conversation down. **Ok, that’s just…settle down. That’s not what I’m saying.** He took off his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose. Phil felt like crying. Again. The most useless stress response ever. But how else was he supposed to take that? If his one option was stupid, what recourse did he have? 

Bruce dropped his hand, seemingly regrouped. **Phil, _if_ something about you is toxic, it’s not this. ** He gestured to the the side of Phil's head, at one useless ear. **This isn’t toxicity, it’s a challenge. A problem, even. Painful, sure. But not toxic. If you’re putting toxicity out in the world, it’s not because you’re deaf. It’s this.** He turned the schematics around, pointing to them. **Your not carrying the Hulk, Phil. There’s nothing about you inherently dangerous or damaging.**

Bruce stood, a little stiff, still gesturing to the hologram. There was tension in his posture- frustration or even anger. **But this? This is-**

“It’s viable medical technology!” Phil pleaded, wanting Bruce to understand, to not repeat the same lecture as the people who didn’t understand. “Bruce, this could help people! I designed it for mom, for her allergies! It could help! This isn’t-“

**_Could_. Could be viable medical technology. I get that Phil, I’m not stupid. But you know what else it could- _will_ be if you develop it under these circumstances. You don’t want to be toxic? Then it’s time for you to start thinking about what you’re putting out into the world. If you are toxic, it’s via this. From your being willing to make this, without any thought to it’s actual use, or who is going to be using it. It’s like leaving a machine gun laying in the street and acting surprised when it hurts someone. Sure, maybe it would have just sat there until someone used it to save a life, but more likely, if you just leave it there, it’s going to get used by whatever asshole first runs across it with a grudge. If you want to talk about toxic, Phil, this is it. This is what you need to change. And you can. Right now, things are still under your control. At some point, you’ll be in too deep, and that choice wont be yours to make anymore. It’s not fair you have to make it now, at your age, when your in pain, but that is what you’ve been handed. I’m sorry about that, I am.**

**But if you want to protect your family, if you want to be good for them, then think about what kind of world you’re contributing to, what you’re putting out into the world we’ve got.**

Phil felt his face crumpling, and he looked down. “I get it! Ok, I get it! This is bad and toxic and I shouldn’t be doing it and I’m selfish. I get it! But” He backed up a half step, but he was already in his workshop, nowhere else to run to. “But I’m a coward, ok? I’m a coward and I can’t _do_ this. I can’t tell when someone is sneaking up behind me. I can’t tell when someone is making fun of me. Half the time I can’t even tell if someone is talking to me! I can’t take this! What happens when its AIM or a new Dr Doom or some bullshit sneaking up on me instead of a grocery store clerk? What am I supposed to do then? Right now I- I can’t even buy _food.”_

Bruce’s expression was sympathetic now. **Pretty sure people with hearing impairments have ways of getting food.**

“But how many of them get regularly kidnapped or almost kidnapped by super villains?” Phil shot back. Bruce acknowledged the hit. 

**About the same number who have a family of superheroes to help them figure out what to do about that: 1.**

“Don’t be glib.” Phil spat out.

Bruce nodded acknowledgment. Being Bruce, he didn’t get angry back. **I think you want to go home.** He took a heavy, pained looking breath. **I _know_ I do. And my home…is still in that tower. And I’ve got a lot less reason to think they’ll be happy to see me than you do. But if there’s a chance…**

**Phil, maybe you are bad for them. But you have the luxury of being able to change the parts of you that might actually be bad for the people around you. I don’t. But I tried going it alone and it _didn’t work_. So I’m going to try to be with the people that have the most chance of containing me. Your family isn’t weak. Our family isn’t weak. And I don’t think you are either. You just to be willing to actually, accurately assess the problem, and be willing to change what you can.**

Bruce banished the hologram, stepping a little closer. **I want to go home. So do you. We can- DOOR OPENING**

Bruce stopped mid sentence, and Phil turned to snap at whichever of them was intruding, then shut his mouth in a hurry. Justin Hammer strutted into the room with a broad, fake smile, sweat at his temples, and two tall men in generic black suits trailing behind him.


	20. Chapter 20

Alma watched Jamie frowning at the open workshop door where that Hammer jerk had just strutted on in like he owned the place. Which she was mostly sure he didn't. She took a few step away from the door, towards him. She wished Signe was here, and hadn’t tried to get her daily run in before Bapa’d come home. She’d missed the reunion! Couldn't she just learn to think and sit still at the same time?

Alma leaned in to whisper to Jamie “Should I go beat them up?” She didn’t like badguys around Bapa.

Jamie shook his head, still watching the door, pretty obviously worried. “They’re all armed. Don’t engage unless we have to. Show me outside?”

Alma pulled out her phone and called up the security cameras. She hissed under her breath. “There’s a bunch of vans outside with more guys. Matchy, running vans.”

Jamie looked more alarmed now, and glanced at her phone. He turned to look her in the eye, whispering. “Alma, go call the rest of the adults. Tell them to come here _now_. Don’t engage, ok? Then get back to me here, if it’s safe. If there’s guns in there, Bruce needs to be somewhere else.”

“But what about Phil and Dr Banner?”

“I’ll stay with them. Go get us help, ok?”

Right. Jamie would stay and protect them. He had his dart thinggies. She turned, but Jamie stopped her. "Wait." he glanced at the workshop door, then pulled at his shirtsleeve. He fiddled with the gauntlet a minute, and carefully pulled out a single quill to hand to her.

 

She took it, just as carefully, and after a seconds hesitation tucked it into her hair, tip away from her scalp. "Just in case." he said.

 

She nodded, then bolted over to her own bedroom for a private chat. She wondered if they’d waited on purpose for Signe to be gone. It wasn’t a pleasant thought. She called the team line and got 5 fast answers. Nobody talked, but she saw 5 tense faces waiting for her to talk, making sure not to interrupt. “That creepy Hammer guy is here and he looks super freaked out and he has two armed guys here with him and 4 matchy vans with tinted windows and more guys and engines running outside and I think they waited till Signe wasn’t here and Jamie and Phil and Bapa are all in the workshop with Hammer and the armed guys. Help?”

She heard Clint first, a quiet swearword. Then Tony, “Bruce is there already?"

Steve spoke with his Captain Voice. “We’ll be to you within five. Try to stay where you are and don’t-“

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t engage if you don’t have to. I know. Jamie reminded me already.”

Captain Rogers nodded “Everyone move out. Liftoff in 3."

Tony's voice next. "I can get there faster, I'll meet you on site."

Captain Rogers voice went extra captain-y. "Ironman, I need you at the tower."

" _What?_ You can not possibly expect to bench me on this one. I can get my arm in the suit, these are our _kids_ -"

"I'm not benching anyone. We need to be in Hammer’s systems. Now. And SHEILDs as fast as you can. I need intel.”

Natasha cut in. “New problem. I’m getting an alert of a prison break in progress at-“ she broke of, cussing in quiet Russian.

Tony’s voice was dry. “Well, that clarifies Hammers plan, at least. Oh. I have arial in the area. Looks like…SHEILD.”

Alma brightened. “Oh good! That’s why Hammers so upset, right? They’re going to arrest him?”

Natasha's voice was trying to be gentle. "He's not going to be the only one they've got their eye on."

"What?" Alma objected, her voice pitching high. But Phil hadn't _done_ anything bad. Not _actually_ bad.

Steve cut in again. “Chatter on the way. Thor, get to that prison break. Shut it down.  Widow, Hawkeye, you’re with me. IronMan, get me anything you can. Radio chatter if you’ve got it. And Alma?”

She jumped, straightening to attention before she thought about it. "Yeah?"

"Clear the area as well as you can, but _do not take any risks._ "

"Yes, Captain!"

"No radio silence here, I want constant updates." he finished. "Move out."

 

* * *

Jamie did not like this. Something had Hammer shaken really badly. He was sweating a little, talking too loud, and definitely in some kind of hurry. Jamie hovered in the doorway behind the man, watching him talking to Phil. He was totally ignoring Dr. Banner, so it wasn't the Hulk making him nervous.

"Hey, there's my guy! Ready to see your new facility? I know, I know. I said it would be next week. So sue me, I'm enthusiastic. I've got your collaborator en route and we're ready to hit the ground running. Have you been backing everything up to the main server?"

Phil could tell that something was off, too.  He was frowning at Hammer, scrutinizing him. Naturally, he decided to be contrary. Phil leaned back, with his arms crossed. "Doesn't anybody around here know how to use a phone? I'm really not dressed for that right now. I have to shower, brush my teeth, change my clothes..." Jamie got a text message, vibrating in his pocket. Hammer continued ignoring him. He pulled out the phone.

**Alma: They're on their way. Can I come back in?**

Jamie looked up, assessing the situation. There was tension in the room, but so far no fireworks. But there was a glint in Bruce's eye that Jamie hadn't seen often and carried some worrying associations. Jamie wasn't afraid of the Hulk per se, but the Hulk going after the bad guys in this room would bring the ceiling down on them. He needed to get Bruce away from here. Jamie himself had trouble resisting wanting to beat Hammer up, and he knew he couldn't. He could only imagine what that temptation would be like right now if he knew he could actually succeed.

 

Jamie leaned against the doorframe, trying to look casual, and texted back. **Yeah, try and get Bruce away from here. On the roof, maybe?**

 

**Alma: What about you?**

 

He glanced up. Phil was watching him, carefully. **I'm staying with Phil. Keep me informed, ok?**

 

Hammer paused, looking back at Jamie with a look of righteous indignation. "Why is there a child in the workshop? Are you _texting?"_ he turned to Phil "What happened to 'not babysitting?'" Back to Jamie "Go on, run along now, kid. The grownups are talking. Go text your little girlfriend somewhere else." Why were nemeses always so rude?

Hammer was sweating harder, now, turning kind of red in the face. He turned back to Phil. "Is this what you call professionalism? Kids in the workshop, pajamas in the middle of the day? And who's this?" he gestured at Bruce, angrily.

Alma reappeared at the door. "That's Bapa." she answered promptly.

Hammer swiveled to Alma. "Oh good, another one."

Alma walked right past him, making Jamie’s breath catch as she passed right within grabbing distance of Hammer, but he just glared, hands on his hips. She headed over to Doctor Banner, picking up one of his hands. "Bapa, you've been talking to Phil for _forever_. You said I could show you the view up on the roof."

Bruce raised an eyebrow a notch, recognizing her effort but hesitant. "Not yet, kiddo. I'm still helping Phil. You go on up and I'll join you when I'm done here. You can call your dad if you're bored."

 

Hammer didn't seem to notice the underlying subtext going on."Helping? _Helping?_ Who are you?"

 

Alma ignored him, and put on a whiney voice. "Nooo. I already called him." She tugged on his hand. "Come upstairs with me. Phil doesn't mind. Right? You'll be ok?"

 

Phil watched her carefully. He _could_ tell there was subtext going on "Uh. Yeah. I'll be fine." His eyes flicked anxiously to Jamie. Phil knew better than to want to be alone and uninformed with Hammer right now. Jamie leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, showing Phil silently he wasn't going to leave with Alma and Bruce. He was pretty sure he saw a little relief.

 

Bruce was still hesitant. He looked at Alma, then at Jamie. "Upstairs, huh?"

 

Alma nodded. "To the roof." Jamie nodded a little, looking at Bruce meaningfully since neither Hammer nor the guards were paying attention to him.

 

Bruce gave another look to Phil, and slowly got to his feet. Jamie wondered if he was playing it up, or if he really was that creaky. Maybe he was giving Phil a chance to object.

 

There was one really uncomfortable moment as Bruce passed Hammer and Hammers fidgety, angry eyes met Bruce's dammed up furious ones, but Bruce's expression didn't mean to Hammer what it meant to the rest of them, and he just gave back a critical, superior sneer.

 

As soon as they were out of the room Hammer nodded at the bodyguards, and then at the doorway. Jamie’s stomach sank as both guards left to follow them. Damnit. He sent out a warning text to Alma and the team. He debated following her, but he was pretty much sure Hammer was armed too, and Phil still didn't know what was going on.

He stayed put. Hammer rounded on Phil. "Who was that? Do you even understand the concept of intellectual property? Or patents? What did you show him?" he demanded.

 

Phil was irritable, petulant, even. "Geeze, settle down. He's just an old family friend.”

 

That didn't help matters any. "An old- have we not been over this? Maybe I wasn't clear enough. _You aren't one of them anymore._ Do you think they don't know that? Think they're here to _help_ you? No no. that's not how the game is played. You switched teams, remember? Double check your saves and let’s get going. I have places to be."

 

He saw Phil swallow, eyes darting to the side for a second, and Phil turned back to his desk.

 

* * *

Signe had been running for about 2 hours, trying to sort xyr head out. Xe was on the part of xyr loop nearest the prison, would be passing the long, winding road that served as its driveway soon. Xe slowed but didn’t stop when xyr phone went off.  Xe answered without even checking the caller. Had Xe missed Bruce’s arrival? Xe hadn’t expected him until later-

Tony’s voice came through immediately, cutting and authoritative. “Signe, _stand down_.”

What? Signe slowed to a stop, not the way xe would have hoped to reopen interactions with Tony. “Stand down?”

“I can tell from your phone signature that you’re by the prison. I don’t know how you got there first but Thor will be there in under three minutes. Do _not_ engage.”

Got there first? Tony assumed something had sent xyr this direction. Something external. Which meant there _was_ something happening, that he assumed xe already knew about. At a location like this, there were a limited number of potential crises, and only one inmate that should warrant fathers intervention.

Xe dropped xyr phone and it’s tracking software to the side, and started sprinting.

* * *

“God _damnit!”_ Tony’s fist connected with the edge of the work surface, jabbing vibrations up his arm to his shoulder. “I am going to lock him in a tower till he can Rapunzel down all 73 floors. Shit. Thor! Signe is en rout to the prison, and he’s closer than you, _pick up the pace.”_

The workshop had become the war room. Tony’s fingers were flying as he and J smashed their way into Hammer’s systems and hey, since Hammer’d been in prison for over 20 years it looked like someone had given his company something that at least approached a firewall. Cute. Pepper was on his left, right now just standing ready for anything she might need to do. Rhodey was on his right, just as ready, and providing backup tactical as necessary, for when Cap was busy kicking heads in.

Pepper’s voice was commanding, if scared. “Jamie has his phone in his pocket and none of the security cameras are in the workshop. I want to see what’s going on.”

Right. Sure, but Tony couldn’t make cameras appear out of no-where and Phil’s phone probably wasn’t in any more useful of a position. “Not a magician, Pep.”

“That wasn’t directed at you, Tony.” She said, with a slight air of resignation, moving to one of the interface stations. He spared a brief glance over at what she was doing. “If I remember right, you put at least some kind of camera in those glasses. Jarvis, did Phil block you, or can you get me the feed?”

This was why he loved her. The glasses were his tech. Secured to Jarvis, and the only Stark tech Phil had taken with him. And, obviously, they were in the room and had audio. Jarvis answered with a screen in front of Pepper, looking out over several floating screens of Phil's research.

Tony re-applied himself to Hammers systems. “Hah. In.” He had to focus on the job in front of him. Pepper would scream if there was a problem. As long as there was no screaming, he could do his job.

Once he was in, Rhodey snagged several branches of potential investigation, scanning, processing, prioritizing, looking for information relevant to the current goings on.

Rhodey’s voice was quiet, but no less poised for it. “Shit. I have emails.” He grabbed one, and enlarged it so all 3 of them could read it from where they stood.

The email was explicit- describing, well, describing what Hammer planned to do with Phil’s tech. And for a moment, they all stared at it. Tony opened the names in the “To” field. “Any of these names ringing any bells for us?”

Pepper was staring, horrified. “Oh.”

Rhodey chimed in. “Too many. Tony, if he’s prepping to go to ground with this,  Take it to the black market…”

Armed guards, creepy matching vans, prison break, yeah Hammer was gonna make a run for it. And he pretty obviously intended to take Phil with him. And make…this.

He heard Hammer prattling in the background, snapping at the kids, but so far no real threats. Tony bent his brain back towards the systems. He needed to gather every byte, every backup, every plan and email.

It didn’t take that long. And Phil hadn’t actually taken much care with his own servers either, carelessly using Hammers security systems. Practically an engraved invitation.

“I’ve got it. All of it. I can delete it.” Tony said, over the com and to Pepper and Rhodey. “All the backups- Phil’s, Lezanski's, all of them.”

“ _Oh no_.” Pepper said in her soft, angry, getting-things-done voice. Tony actually turned to look at her. “Rhodey, give me your phone.”

Rhodey wasn’t happy with the order, but he had better sense than to argue and handed her the phone. She booted it up, and started grabbing files, transferring them to Rhodey’s phone. On his military server. “Pepper, what-!”

She didn’t look at either of them, focusing on document selection. “I’m not taking the data, nothing that can be used to _make_ any of this. But we will get him for treason this time and every, _every_ other person who’s taken advantage of Phil. This is evidence. Rhodey is my witness and I am going to take them _apart._ ”

Tony wasn’t so sure about this. A military witness for crimes Phil was involved in. People were going to get involved now, and they’d be asking questions. Phil would be judged, by his actions up to now and his actions over the next 10 minutes. Phil’s next actions would set the tone for the rest of his life.

He could see by the way the camera was shaking that Phil was breathing hard. He was scared.

* * *

 

Alma was sort of freaking out. She'd got Bapa to come up with her and away from Justin Hammer, but two of the dummies with guns had followed them! Dr Banner had a big beard now but he'd been a world-saving hero for ages! How did they not recognize him?

 

This was so not good. She knew when she saw him that something had happened. He looked younger than the last time she'd called him. She understood what that meant. But since he wasn't heroing anymore it meant he'd hulked _not on purpose,_ which was exactly what he'd been afraid of when he left. Which meant his control was slipping. So a couple guys with guns following them- following Alma- this was very not helpful.

 

She recognized the signs. His shoulders were knotted up, and his head was down and his teeth where squeezed tight together and his hand not holding hers was tight- not a fist, flexing restlessly. The hand he did have on hers was also tight, but not too tight. He remembered what he was holding on to.

 

She wasn't afraid of the Hulk. She met him before she'd met Dr. Banner. He had saved her, kept her from dying like her first parents had. But Bapa _was_ afraid of the Hulk. And there was fear now under the angry parts of his expression. It was the same fear that had made him run away from her before.

 

They needed to get to open air. That would settle the tension some, let them get a little more distance, and maybe let her do something about this. If he’d let her. She held his hand tight. If he really was going to loose control, he'd let go of her first. As long as he was holding her hand, they were still ok.

 

A few more steps and they were there, out in the bright sunlight and a cold blast of wind. She didn’t slow down, pulling him further away from the door as fast as she could without running. If she ran, she was pretty sure they’d shoot, and then all hell would break loose. She just needed a little distance from them.

 

She couldn't loose him again. He just got here. The men with guns scared her, but not as much as that.

 

Bapa was afraid he'd loose control around her. Hurt her, or someone else who didn't deserve it. He was afraid she wasn't safe with him. She had to show him that was wrong. _And_ not get shot.

 

The bodyguards paused just for a second at the doorway, checking the roof for trouble. They’d get it, soon. The team would be here in under a two minutes. She took the opportunity to turn to Bruce. “Bapa, you trust me, right?”

 

Bruce was looking back at the bodyguards. He was on high alert. But he tore his eyes away from them for a second to look at her. “What?”

 

“Do you trust me?” She asked again, pleading but trying to sound grown-up and in control.

 

He understood that there was a catch, and gave her his full attention, frowning. “What do you want.”

 

She didn’t let herself bite her lip, or shift her weight, or any other tell. He’d already know she was afraid, she had to show him she wasn’t _too_ afraid. "I don't want the Hulk to come out."

 

He was slowing down his breath, trying so hard, but there was green around his eyelids, Just like Signe’s blue, and his eyes kept flicking back to the badguys as they started to approach. “I don’t- I’m _trying._ But I'm not going to let you get hurt.”

 

She took a deep breath. "I'd rather deal with them than let the Hulk come out. I only have to stall like...less than a minute and the team will get here."

 

His voice was gravely and angry- at her now, at what he thought she was saying. "I told you I'm _trying_ -"

 

"I can help. If you let me." she glanced back at the bodyguards, bouncing on her toes a little. They were getting close now. She looked back at him. "Trust me? It wont work otherwise. Please? I know what I'm doing. I know about the hulk. He's my dad to. I _know_. I can _do this_."

 

He wasn't convinced, but he was listening. Or trying to, but his eyes kept flicking over and they seemed to have a little green in them. "What do you-"

 

"I can knock you out. But only if you let me. If you don't it'll just make things worse, I know- but if you let me, it'll be like a doctors office and it'll be fine. And I can take care of us both for a couple seconds before the team gets here!"

 

He was worried, and tensing. The badguys were holding back a little, confused. He glanced at them, then at her. "You're sure? I don't want to leave you alone."

 

She nodded, not trusting her voice not to squeak. She’d already pulled the dart, the tiny quill of a thing, out of her hair when he nodded.

 

She jammed the tiny needle into his neck, hoping Tony thought of this, and that it’d do what she expected, because otherwise she just jammed a needle into Bruce’s neck when he was already really mad.

 

She pulled her hand back as fast as she could, backing up a step, then rushed forward again as Bapa’s eyes rolled back in his head and he went limp all at once.

 

She caught him and _oof_ he was heavy. The guard guys started swearing and demanding to know what was going on. She gently lowered Bapa down, trying to make him comfortable.

 

She straightened up, and took a deep breath. She’s been training for so long, but she’d never fought real attackers by herself. Even just for a few seconds.

 

She stepped over Bruce, towards them, and bent her knees, getting ready. Time to make good.

 

* * *

 

Getting to the prison was easy. Getting in barely less so.

 

Signe just waited until xe could get a look at one of the guards, then matched their appearance. Nobody was going to be bothering with security guards when they recognized their co-workers perfectly well, and this wasn’t the sort of facility accustomed to having to deal with anything as unusual as shape-changing. Once in, it was simply a matter of following the noise.

 

A few things became quickly apparent. One was that Justin Hammer was not very creative. He’s used similar tactics with Dr. Lezanski as he had on Ivan Venko. There had been an explosion, a distraction, and xe could guess the rest from there. Xe knew the layout of this place, Xe had made it xyr business to memorize all the prisons and high-risk facilities in New York, in preparation of one day defending xyr home. Xe took an informed guess at where they’d be likely to go to get away undetected, and was rewarded by the sight of three figures beating a hasty retreat through the woods.

 

But Frank Lezanski was not a young man, nor a healthy one, and was slowing his would-be rescuers down. Two (probably mercenaries) were running away with a prison-uniformed man that had to be Frank. They had guns, but seemed to be wanting not to draw attention to themselves by drawing them.

 

Xe was faster. Much, much faster than either of them. At a sprint, Xe could be ahead of them in next to no time for an ambush.

 

The first went down before he knew xe was there. Unconscious, and likely with minor head trauma, but alive. The second managed to aim his gun, but while Signe was not faster than bullets, xe was faster than he was able to aim. He dropped nearly as quickly. Lezanksi, self-centered scum that he was, didn’t even pause for his fallen rescuers, nor to look behind him. He kept running, pitifully unaware how pointless that was.

 

Xe turned away from the downed men, sprinting forwards, just close enough to him to throw up a thick grey wall of ice in his path, a good 4 feet across. He tried to stop in time, but stumbled and fell on the debris of the forest floor, landing gracelessly with a thud. He stared up at the wall, then around, frantically, finally turning to look behind him.

 

Xe was blue, true nature showing through. Xe didn’t even remember opening the door, but xe didn’t have to look down to confirm it. Xe felt free, relaxed, in a way xe couldn’t have with it closed, not under circumstances like this. The man’s eyes went round, white surrounding the black of his irises. Yes, that was the face from the file. She recognized him clearly. Xe advanced more slowly, now. There was no need to hurry. He pressed his back against the ice, cowering. Pathetic.

 

Xe stared down at him with ruby eyes. “Do you know who I am?”

 

“Please, I was just going where they were taking me. They had guns. It was practically a kidnapping.”

 

“Do you _know_ who I am? Did you do even that little research before attacking us?”

 

“I haven’t attacked you! I don’t even recognize you! _What are you_?”

 

Xe snarled. He attacked them, a personal, intimately damaging attack, and he didn’t know who they were. Xe bared xyr teeth, lunging forward to grasp him by the front of his prison uniform. “You _swine._ To do such damage when you care so _little._ To cause _so_ much pain so _thoughtlessly_. I should gut you now. Your _benefactor_ already assured that your body would not be missed.”

 

His hands grasped at xyr, pushing xyr wrist, shoulders, neck, arms, no more effective than a kitten. Less so even than Tony had been.

 

Tony.

 

Xir hands recalled that feeling again. The shuddering, soggy cracks under xyr thumb and the dull, deep satisfaction that followed them. This man was even more brittle, and yet more dangerous. And xe could stop his threat. Make sure that he couldn’t be brought to bear before xyr family again. The fabric under xyr hands started to tear.

 

A thin film of frost was starting to form over his face where xyr breath hit him, just like the kidnapper she’d felled years ago. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to attack you- I don’t even know who you are! Please, I’m sorry, just let me go. I’ll go back to prison. I will. The break wasn’t my idea, I swear. It was Hammer- I’ll testify-”

 

Xe growled, a noise deep in xyr abdomen. Xe leaned in towards him, the frost growing thicker on his face as he struggled fruitlessly to get away. “Phillip Potts Stark is my brother, you useless, spineless worm. And you have _hurt_ him, and nearly killed him and a number of my family. If you had stayed put, I would have let you live. I _could_ have let you live. I would have followed father’s wishes and left you to rot. But if you are bent on being a continued threat then I will _end_ you, for their sakes.”

 

His shaking hands had stopped grasping, stopped their inconsequential pushing and now curled against his chest as he bent as far aware from xyr as possible, his meager and brief-lived heat melting the ice far too slow to help him. “No- shit. No, please. No!” His pleading ceased to be pleading, became mindless begging, shouting, half sobbed. Signe grabbed one thick, fragile wrist. It crackled just slightly under xyr hand, and he screamed. Not intentional, but Signe was beyond being cautious with this paper man. Xe slammed his wrist against the wall of ice, and let the ice envelop it, holding him steady. He pulled, trying to break the ice. Xe simply extended the ice further, engulfing to just past the elbow.

 

Xe had large hands that fit easily around his fat neck- the pads of xyr fingers at the base of his scull, where it met the spine, protecting all that was life-giving in a human. Xir thumbs curled up and around, digging lightly into his throat.

 

It would only take a flick of the wrist. The barest flutter of movement. This would be the most efficient way. The cleanest. Not half so visceral as if xe were to aim lower, to take him apart by inches. But…no. Xe shied away from that temptation. There was satisfaction in his screams, his pleas, but they left a fowl taste in xyr mouth. Xe would not chase them. Xe would keep it efficient. Just end him.

 

His head tilted back as xe flexed xyr thumbs slowly, experimentally. Not hard enough to damage, only to move his head. It moved easily, like a stuffed toy. He whimpered. The sound made her gut clench- anticipation or possibly nausea.

 

Signe waited. Xe wasn’t sure for what. Xe crouched, motionless in front of the weak, dangerous man in xyr hands.

 

* * *

Phil was starting to feel lightheaded. Hammer was clearly starting to crack under some unknown pressure. Which made the prospect of leaving with him, suddenly and in a hurry, really unappealing. “I, ah, I haven’t backed it all up to the company server yet. That’ll take a few minutes.”

He saw Jamie watching him. He couldn’t read his expression, but he had a good idea what he was watching him for. He was waiting to see if Phil would give Hammer what he wanted.  Hammer, on the other hand, looked red-faced and about ready to burst a vein. **HAMMER: Well, get it done, then!** He saw Jamie's jaw go tight, angry at Hammer for yelling at him. Protective in his own impotent way.

Phil turned towards the desk, opening files and sorting them as he saved them to the company server. His own sorting and saving system was too idiosyncratic for business.

 

Text flashed on the screen of his glasses. **USER: Phil, it’s Tony**

Phil startled, looking behind him. Jamie was hovering by the doorway watching him, Hammer was pacing a short track, checking his watch looking like that vein was going to burst any second. He saw Phil look up and scowled. **HAMMER: What are you waiting for? Get those files on the server!**

Phil turned back to the desk. What the hell?

**USER: The team is on it’s way to deal with Hammer. Phil, don’t be on the wrong side of this. Please. We won’t hurt you but please, don’t. You don’t want to work with this douchebag. You don’t owe him anything, and you don’t need him.**

**I’m in his systems now, looking at his plans for this tech once you’ve finished it. Do not give him this.**

His dad had hacked his damn glasses! In the middle of- fucking _nerve_. Phil let his hands keep moving, keep saving files.

**DAD: You’re still saving.**

Phil didn’t stop. Not only was Tony sending him messages via the glasses, he was getting video. How long had he been doing that? How long had he been using Phil’s disability to spy on him? That ass! His face heated again. Spying on him, on his work... Practically ditching him here and then turning around to spy on him at his own convenience without offering anything back. Just checking on Phil's work for an old rival.

**DAD: Ok, you know what? Fine. You won’t listen to anyone, how about you listen to Hammer, then? If that’s what you wanna do. I’m in his system, you want the intel I’ve got on what he plans to do with your tech? Here you go.**

Text exploded across the screen, and Phil suspected he yelped. That _jackass!_ He glanced backwards at Hammer, who’d stopped pacing to watch him suspiciously. “S-sorry…just uhm. Brief malfunction.” He gestured at the glasses. “I ah, I didn’t make these.”

Hammer rolled his eyes, and seemed to dismiss it. Phil put the glasses back on. Tony had uploaded a whole damn text document at once. He took off the glasses for a second to scroll through it, briefly, mainly trying to see what Tony had said.

Some words caught his eye. “Enhanced compliance.”, And he paused.

He looked at the document more closely. It was an email from Hammer to a number of other people- no names Phil recognized, describing some “neurologically based” weaponry Hammer’s company was developing, and describing it’s many potential uses, particularly once he managed to finish up the aerosol dispersal system to covertly introduce it into a subjects body. He was saying how, with fine tuning, the nanites would be useful for interrogation, bypassing a subjects decision-making abilities, and how eventually he hoped to use the same technology on a more refined scale for “enhanced troop compliance”. He detailed ways small populations could potentially be infected and uniformly activated - allowing whole towns to be taken hostage remotely, with no single attackable threat identifiable. He wrote glowingly about its usefulness with assassination, since it would be incredibly difficult to track, and could be used to stimulate natural causes of death such as stroke without contaminating the bloodstream. He talked about using it to stimulate pain, or confusion, or to induce hallucinations. To disable and frighten and kill.

Phil’s hands went still.

Yeah, he’d known this could be used as a weapon. He’d known that.

This wasn’t news.

Phil knew this.

He stood and turned, staring at Hammer, who stopped, staring back, apparently aware that something was wrong. **HAMMER: Hey, come on, chop chop. We're on the clock.**

Jamie was watching him with concern. **JAMIE: Phil?**

Phil stared at hammer. “Enhanced compliance? What’s… what does that mean? Mind control? Aerosol dispersed decision-making bypass? _Airborne mind-control?_ ” He thought about Clint, the specific ways he never talked about Loki.  He thought about Steve, or Signe, Thor, or Bruce. What it could do with them. To them. To Natasha or Clint.

Hammer stared him down before a little exhale and a derisive little smile. **HAMMER: What, decided to go digging in my email? Now? Fine, go ahead. It’s no secret. You knew we were a weapons manufacturer. And hey, you’re the one building it. Even a kid like you can’t be that naive. I never even pretended we weren’t going to use this in our weapons programs.** Hammer cocked his head to the side, pointing at Phil, his sick smile not fading, but mingling with a sneer. **Oh, or did you think I was doing all this for you? You and your little hearing problem?** he dropped his hand, smile widening into a disbelieving grin. **Oh, oh ho. _Wow_** **. I mean, I expected you to be spoiled, but _this,_** **this is a whole other level. That’s just amazing.** The smile vanished, leaving only the snide sneer. **Just finish saving up so we can get out of here. I’ve got bigger fish to fry than you, kid**.

Phil didn’t move.

**USER: I’m in his system. I’ve got it all. Every file on this project. Yours, Lezanski’s, everything on your private server. Phil, I could delete it all. Keep it out of this maniac’s hands.**

Phil jerked. Delete it all? All the files? Some of that Phil hadn’t come up with, too many equations and numbers for even him to remember, coming from…Lezanski? That must be “L”.

Wasn’t that the name of…

His heart was pounding, it felt like his whole body must be vibrating with it. His dad was going to delete it all. And Phil _couldn’t_ do this alone. Without help, he’d never be able to recreate what he was working on. SI wouldn’t touch a project like this.

His vision blurred at the edges. **USER: But I’m not going to.** There was a long pause. **This is your tech. Yours. You made it. You should be the one responsible for it.**

A code, a simple password appeared on the glasses, just a handful of letters and numbers, followed by **I trust you.**

Hammer noticed Phil’s indecision. **HAMMER: What is the holdup? What, am I not kissing your ass enough, Mr. Stark? Well, too bad honey, because this is the pecking order, now. You need me. You know they won’t let you take this to the end. They’ll just _leave_** **you like this. And without me, without them, what are you? Huh? Without me standing between you and the big bad world, what have you got?**

He could see Jamie’s jaw getting tight, fire in his eyes. He looked ready to kick Hammers ass. Ready, but not particularly able. Not able to protect anyone- not himself, not Phil.

**USER: You don’t need him. Even without us, you don’t need him.**

Without them? What did that mean? Bruce had tried to get him to go home, did they not…would they not take him back? His throat closed up.

But _mind control?_

Phil stepped back again, the back of his legs pressing against the workbench. He didn’t have any further to back up.

Hammer took that for a decision.

He was fast, for an old guy. He had the gun out of it’s concealed holster in a flash. Phil’s eyes widened as the world slowed down, putting his hands up, as if it could help anything. He braced for the shot, saw Jamie rush forward, trying to get between Phil and the gun and that _idiot._

Jamie stopped short, hands reached out in front of him, frozen.

Hammers gun wasn’t trained on Phil. It was pointed very deliberately on Jamie.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Closing in on the end here. I posted early because I'm gonna be out of town over the weekend. As always, I'm over on Tumblr as Constant-Instigator, with an open askbox. Many thanks to my lovely wife Printed_Soot for the beta work :)
> 
> Cheers!


	21. Chapter 21

Phil was frozen. Hammer just stood there, sweat on his face next to a tight, mean smile, gun aimed at Jamie’s head from just a couple feet away. Too far away for Jamie to use self-defense against it. Stupid Jamie! He should know better than to end up in a position like that. 

 **HAMMER: There. Is that better? Now you have every excuse to just step aside. Who could even blame you? When it comes to just giving me the data, in exchange for your _little brothers_ life and safety? ** Phil swallowed, hard. 

Suddenly, deleting the data seemed like less of a personal loss. Not like loosing Jamie. Especially like this. Jamie looked at him, pupils down to pinpricks, lips tight. His breath was shallow. Phil took a half a step to the side. 

 **JAMIE: Phil, don’t.** They both stared at Jamie. Jamie ignored Hammer, staring Phil directly in the eye. **JAMIE: Don’t give it to him. He’s gonna run. If he gets out of here with that it could go black market, and then there’d be no controlling it at all.** Hammer was staring at him, hard, eyebrows drawn low in concentration. 

 **HAMMER: What? What is that? What are you saying?** He didn’t look incredulous. He really didn’t know. Jamie was banking on the glasses ridiculous voice sensitivity to pick up on it. At Hammers age, probably he did have a little hearing loss. Jamie was whispering, too low for Hammer to make out, and it looked like he wasn’t real good at lipreading. 

 **JAMIE: Don’t do this. Don’t give it to him. I don’t want to live knowing something like this is in the world because of me. Please. Think of what he could do with this. What other people will do with this if it’s up for the highest bidder. Don’t give it to him. Pop and Natasha and Clint are on the way, they’ll be here soon. We just have to stall him till then.**  

Shit. Shit shit. Jamie was right. Hammer was going to make a break with this. He’d wanted to make a break with Phil, to. Lock him up somewhere and put him to work. 

Stalling. Ok. Easy. 

He looked at Hammer, eager to get his attention off Jamie. He tried to straighten, look confident. Or at least less like he was going to piss himself. “I have a hostage, to.” That got his attention. 

**HAMMER: What?**

“You heard me. Let Jamie go, or I’ll do it.”

**HAMMER: What? What are you talking about. You don’t have- you don’t have a hostage.**

“I have a deletion code. I can wipe out everything in your system related to this project. Everything in my system. Every backup. I could wipe it all out, right now. It’d take me less than a second.” 

Hammers weight shifted, he shook his head. **HAMMER: No. No, you wouldn’t. You need that data more than I do. Look, I’m offering you a good deal here. I make a backup copy, hell, you can keep your data. Keep the condo, even, I don’t care. And you can keep little brother here, to. All you have to do is step aside.** It was a good offer. Protect Jamie, keep his work. It was true, nobody would even blame him. Even the house rule was always to comply with kidnappers once caught.

**JAMIE: Don’t. Phil, don’t. I don’t know what Bruce said to you, but you must have thought it was at least kind-of convincing. Whatever he said, listen to it. And think about what Tony would do, or mom.**

Dad. Where was he? The text communications from before had stopped. Was he seeing this? Did he know what was going on? If it came to Jamie, or letting Hammer have the weapon, what would he tell Phil to do? 

Well, if Phil ever needed advice, this was it. “What do you think, dad? What should I do?” Hammers eyes glanced around the room, as if dad was here, somewhere. Idiot. There was a pause, no response. Had the line been disconnected? Was he not watching Phil anymore? 

**DAD: Stall. _Stall._ The team is on the roof. They’re on the building. They’ll be to you in seconds. Don’t let him hurt Jamie and don’t give him the tech. You don’t have to compromise on this, not either way. Just stay calm. We can make this work. **

Hammer leaned, straining to read the glasses. “Clear text.” He said. The text cleared. 

Of course, when offered an either-or option, dad would choose both. That was just who he was. He wanted to save the world AND protect his family. 

Then again, how could anything less be acceptable? 

He looked Hammer in the eye. “He said not to give you the data.” He didn’t dare look at Jamie, didn’t know what Jamie would believe. He’d explain it, later, if he had the chance. 

Hammer was really starting to crack. His eye was twitching and he was starting to show teeth. **HAMMER: You think I’m bluffing? Think I won’t do it? Huh? You fucking people, you think you’re invincible. Untouchable. I will _shoot him in the head_. You want me to prove I’m serious? Huh? You think I’m _playing games_ here? **Hammer took half a step back, grabbing Jamie with the arm not holding the gun. He yanked, hard, pulling Jamie towards him. Hammer was no bruiser, but Jamie was still a whole lot smaller, and he stumbled right into Hammers clutches, his back against Hammers chest, one of Hammers arms across his neck, gun inches from the side of his head. Jamie reached one hand up to pull, ineffectively at the arm restraining him.

Suddenly, Jamie’s expression changed. He squeezed his eyes shut, as if expecting the bullet any second, but the set of his mouth, his jaw, were resolute. He saw Jamie take a deep inhale, bracing himself. Phil prepared to shout out to stop, Hammer prepared to scream something at Phil. Jamie pulled down his sleeve on the hand grabbing Hammers arm, exposing some kind of strap. 

Hammer jerked. His eyes rolled back in his head and he went loose, starting at the head and going down. Jamie reached out and took the gun out of Hammers hand as the man went down into a boneless heap on the floor. 

For a second, nobody moved. 

 **JAMIE: _Oh my God._** Phil exhaled a breath he’d been holding about 10 years, then sagged back against the workshop table. Then continued to sag, until his ass hit the floor just in front of one of the desk legs. He felt really, really dizzy. Jamie stood, Hammers heap of a body curled around his feet, half bent, as if he couldn’t even think to stand back upright, still holding Hammers gun. He was panting, Phil realized he was breathing pretty hard to. 

He reached out a hand towards Jamie. “Here. Here, come away from…” Jamie looked back down at the body, and nodded, slowly. He mostly straightened himself, and staggered over to Phil, collapsing next to him, shoulder to shoulder. 

 **GUN SAFETY BEING ENGAGED. CLATTERING SOUND. JAMIE: Jesus.**  

“Yeah.” Phil wrapped an arm behind Jamie’s shoulders, pulling him closer. 

Jamie leaned his head against Phil's shoulder. **I think probably you’re fired.** Phil laughed, weakly, and pulled tighter. His vision blurred wetly, which was fine.

 

* * *

 

Signe stood over the limp form of Dr. Frank. Xe had finally, at least, stopped his noise. Xe hadn't been able to tolerate the way the clawed at xyr any longer.

There was the sound of rushing air behind xyr. A familiar noise, but one xe wasn't sure xe wanted to hear right now. It was followed by the predictable thud as xyr father touched ground, some feet behind xyr.

For a long minute, there was silence, then soft, careful footfalls. Xe wondered what he saw, looking at xyr and the scene before xyr. He stopped, less than a yard behind xyr. His voice was even, for once, giving nothing away. "He lives."

Signe didn't turn to him. "He lives." Xe acknowledged.

"And you have decided to spare him?"

"Apparently, I have."

"Why?" he asked in that same guarded voice. Not casual, like Tony's voice might have been. The weight of his words were clear, only they gave no indication of his approval or disapproval.

Xe turned to face him. "Do you think he shouldn’t? Should I have killed him? Should I now?"

Xe sought his face for guidance, some sign. A reassurance or rejection. The horror in his face from xyr first kill was absent. Now his eyes held only a sad concern. He seemed, for once, the ancient man xe knew him to be. "I only asked why."

Xe looked away from him, unable to tolerate the ambiguity of his stare. Xe looked back down at the doctor. The villain. "He was too weak. Alone he's no threat anymore. Just an old man. They will keep him more safely guarded from now on, in a stricter facility. He was no real threat anymore. The threat was already neutralized."

"Did you wish to kill him?"

"I still do." A hand rested wearily on xyr shoulder. Xe didn't look up. "But I could call it nothing but vengeance, now. He's too pitiful for his death to be anything more."

"You have explained your actions. Do you feel they were right?"

Xe was silent. He would wait. Xe looked down at the old man- perhaps not so old. Perhaps a bit younger than Tony. He was fat at the waist, with thin, ill-used legs and callus-free hands. And...xe noticed now, he had soiled himself in fear. However long he lived, he would not forget Signe. This was no threat before xyr. He would stay quietly in prison till his dying day, fearing xyr. Nothing further was needed. "Yes."

"Then ice his other arm to, and let's be off. SHEILD will find him soon enough."

Xe did look at him now. "SHEILD? They're here?"

"If they aren't yet, they soon will be. I've already seen to the rest of them."

Signe nodded to xirself, turning to crouch by the old man, lifting his other limp hand to the wall, letting the ice envelop it. He may suffer some mild frostbite, but there would be no lasting damage. Xe stood, taking one last look at him.

Xe stepped close, wrapping still cobalt arms around xyr fathers neck in preparation for flight. It was getting unwieldy now xe was as tall...perhaps slightly taller, than him, but xe loved flying. He wrapped one arm around xyr, and they took off.

* * *

Steve barreled down the stairs and hallway, and he was pretty sure he damaged the apartment door hinge on his way in. He almost ran Phil over in the doorway into the lab, making Phil yelp and then give him a reproachful look.Steve backed up a pace. Phil ducked under Steve’s arm to exit the room.

 

Steve let him walk past, hurt and not hiding it. He almost went after him, but he saw Jamie, laying on the floor on the far side of the room, gasping for air and curled in on himself. Phil, at least, was walking. 

 

He got to Jamie, one hand careful on his shoulder. Tony would have said if Jamie’d been hurt, if- The smell of bile reached him, as Jamie rolled back slightly to look up at him with glassy eyes. He was gasping for breath- asthma attack or injury? Tony would have mentioned if- and he didn’t smell any blood-

 

Phil appeared to Steve’s left, dropping an inhaler into Jamie’s hands, which Jamie hurried to his mouth, inhaling deeply and closing his eyes as he held his breath. Steve rocked back onto his heels. Just an asthma attack. Probably from throwing up too much. Phil slumped against the work desk, continuing down till he was sitting on the floor, limbs loose and one shaky hand reaching out to rest on Jamie's calf. Steve soothed his sons hair out of his eyes as Jamie took a few more rounds with the inhaler. Neither of them was hurt. After a bit over a minute, Jamie pushed himself weakly upwards, trying to sit up. He accepted Steve’s help, leaning himself against Phil with a breathy “Sorry. S-sorry.”

 

Phil's snorted and limply punched Jamie’s arm, irritated with Jamie's apology. Then he looked at Steve. “So, check it out, did Tony tell you Jamie made the takedown shot?” he pointed behind him at the overdressed and unconscious figure on the floor. Steve spared Hammer a glare. He didn’t need to think about that asshole right now. The dart would last an hour.

 

Instead he turned back to Jamie, who was looking curiously at his handiwork as if he didn’t quite know how it had happened. Steve put a hand on Jamie’s shoulder, and waited for Jamie to meet his eyes. “Good job.”

 

Jamie’s smile was shy- overwhelmed and scared and, for the first time in a long time, proud. He gave a breathless little laugh that ended on a breathless little sob, and he leaned forward into Steve’s arm.

 

Close enough to an invitation for Steve, he pulled Jamie in close, wrapping an arm tight around his shoulder and holding Jamie’s head against Steve's shoulder. Steve's hands were shaking. Not many things could do that, but this would get him every time. Jamie leaned into him, and Steve felt small, strong fingers grasping at his sleeve.

 

Phil still sat, leaned against the desk, watching them. He had eyes like a man starved most of the way to death, desperate but resigned. He was hurting but made no move to reach to either of them. Jamie's head turned, also looking at Phil. Steve reached out a hand to Phil, but the older boy looked away. Steve felt Jamie’s shoulders tighten just a hair, and Jamie gave a little huff.

 

Jamie reached out his arm and grabbed Phil roughly by his t-shirt collar. He yanked his brother forward, and Phil, too startled to resist, slammed into Steve’s other shoulder. Jamie left his hand as a knot in Phil's shirt and for a frozen moment everything was still.

 

Steve put up a cautious hand, barely touching Phil's arm. His hands were still shaking. He really wanted to- really really wanted to…

 

Phil turned his face, pressing his forehead against Steve’s shoulder, a gesture Steve remembered from an age ago. His arm could still encircle Phil, and he pulled them both close. One sob-like shudder got away from Steve and that was fine. They were old enough to see that, now. To know how badly this scared him and how relived he was they were ok. Jamie answered by leaning into him. Phil's hand reached up between them, and covered Jamie’s hand where it was still gripping Phil's shirt.

 

One answering sob shuddered through Phil before he pushed back, blinking his eyes to clear them and seeking distance. Steve allowed himself just a tiny bit of resistance. Not enough to hold Phil against his will but enough to tell him Steve didn’t want him to.

 

Phil didn’t shake off his hand, he looked at them, one then the other. Evaluating. His voice was clear, and certain, and trying so hard not to shake. “I want to go home.”

 

Jamie answered first. “Oh thank God. Finally.”

 

Steve smiled at him, readjusting his hand on Phil's arm a little more steadily. “That’s good, I think I broke you’re door.”

 

Phil snorted, looking exactly like Tony. Now he did move out of Steve’s hands, pulling himself to his feet with a terrified look of determination on his face. Steve followed, helping a still unsteady Jamie up. Phil stared at his screen, one hand resting just in front of his keys. 

 

The deletion code.

 

Steve didn’t know what to say. It was the right thing to do. It was important. But part of him- part of him hoped Phil would be selfish. Not impulsive, the way he was before, but selfish. Steve didn’t want to have to watch him grieve. But he respected Phil too much to tell him to disregard his morals like that. The values Steve still believed were under all that fear and impulsivity. He did, at least, want him to make an informed decision. “You can come home, either way.”

 

Phil's attention snapped to Steve with expression of naked, desperate hope, and Steve fought the urge to grab him into another protective hug. He felt sure, for a moment, that that meant Phil would choose to save the data. Instead Phil sucked in a shaky breath. “Tony, you still there?”

 

Steve saw text move across the screen. It felt impersonal, not intimate enough for this moment and he felt a pang of pain on Phil's behalf. Even if Tony were here, Phil wouldn’t have access to his fathers voice. Phil's eyes brimmed with gloss. “Oh. H-hi mom. And dad. I’m coming home now, ok?” more scrolling text. Phil closed his eyes, one tear slipping out. Without looking, he moved his hands, just a few sharp, deceptively decisive movements, then a pause, fingers hovering over the enter key. He seemed frozen.

 

Steve waited. This wasn’t up to him. All he could do was wait.

 

Jamie didn’t seem to feel the same way. He reached out, tentatively. “Phil?”

 

Phil didn’t open his eyes, he didn’t see the message. But as soon as Jamie’s hand contacted his arm Phil's breath rushed out of him, and his hand moved. One last keystroke.

 

The files on the screen started turning red, then disappearing. Phil opened his eyes, watching them go.

 

* * *

 

Jamie was so damn proud of Phil.

He helped Phil pack, and threw some of their things back into luggage. He was so, _so_ ready to go home. He knew they could come back for some stuff later, but he was pretty sure SHEILD would be here shortly, and he just didn't like the idea of unknown agents going through his underwear drawer. Pop stayed with Phil, who had just kind of shut down since he'd deleted all his research.

He was heading to Signe's room to pack up some of her things when he heard thundering footsteps speeding down the hallway. He stopped, and as expected, Signe herself hauled around the damaged apartment entry doorframe, followed by a very breathless Alma.

"Jamie!" Signe rushed forward, and Jamie braced for impact. Signe scooped him up, lifting him right off the floor in a hug that just barely didn't crush him. "I heard what you did!"

Signe dropped him back on his feet. "Hi, Sig. Yeah, you missed all the excitement."

"Nope." Alma corrected. "Signe was busy catching Dr. Lezanski from a prison break." 

Signe looked apologetic. "I wish I'd been here. I'm sorry. "

Jamie blinked at her. “Oh. There was a prison break? Uhm…good job, then?”

Signe nodded. "And Alma took out some of his hired goons before the jet even got here." She looked at his suitcase, then back to him, hopefully. "Packing? Are we going home?"

Phil's voice sounded from the workshop door. Pop was with him, one hand still on his shoulder. "Yeah. I am so fucking done with this place."

Everyone turned to look at Phil, who was sullenly glaring at the floor. Their expressions both turned sympathetic. Signe spoke. "Clint told us what you did."

Phil looked further down on the floor. He shrugged tight shoulders, and pop tightened his hand on Phil's far shoulder. Wow, pop still looked really shaken up. Had he always reacted like this when they got into danger? It’d been years- he wasn’t sure. Signe reluctantly released Jamie, treaded over to Phil and gave him a much more careful hug. She straightened, looking at pop. "Where is the snake Jamie vanquished, anyways?"

"I didn't 'vanquish' him, Sig. I just knocked him out with one of Tony’s darts at like, point blank range."

Signe waved off his objection. Pop looked hesitant for some reason. "In the workshop. We'll deliver him to SHEILD from here."

Signe looked them both over. "I'll do it." She headed towards the workshop, and pop loosened his grip on Phil enough to let go.

"Signe-"

Alma interrupted. "It's ok. She would have killed Dr. Lezanski if she was gonna kill somebody today."

That got at least part of Phil's attention. "What?"

Alma filled them in on the fight on the roof, and on Signe's intercepting the prison break as Signe herself reappeared with Hammer slung effortlessly over one shoulder like a sack of potatoes, looking fairly grim about the whole thing. Huh.

They headed for the roof. Jamie started thinking. Thinking harder when they arrived and there was already a SHEILD helicopter there, being loaded up with henchmen by SHEILD agents.  That had been fast. When one of them turned around, he recognized her as Phil's social worker. Natasha and Clint looked pretty pissed about that. So did pop as he came up the stairs behind Jamie. Phil noticed all the glaring and glanced up. Alma was the first to voice it. "Oh, _seriously?_ "

Clair the fake social worker walked over to them calmly. "Mr. Pots-Stark.  It's a pleasure to finally meet you."

"The fuck?" Phil answered.

Signe growled. "She was your 'social worker'."

Phil looked simply unimpressed. “Oh. You’re a pretty shit social worker, you know. I haven’t seen you once since we moved here.”

Not-Clair smirked. Jamie was starting to put all of this together, and blurted the words out without thinking. “It was a _test!_ ” That drew curious looks from Alma and Phil, a thoughtful one from Signe, and a pissed off glare at the SHEILD agent from pop. Clint, Natasha and Thor came to join the conversation, Clint and Natasha overtly flanking the agent from just behind her, Thor just listening, carrying still unconscious Bruce protectively. Jamie tried to keep his irritation from running away with him. “You were just standing around watching to see what we’d do, weren’t you?”

By their expressions, Clint and Natasha had already figured that out. Not-Clair smiled serenely. “Not exactly. We were tailing Hammer, and gave the rest of you an opportunity to distance yourselves from this before we moved.”

That seemed to mollify pop a little, but not Clint or Natasha. Alma tilted her head. “We really are on SHEILD threat watch then, huh?”

The agent raised an eyebrow at Alma. “Yes. You should probably get used to the idea.”

Alma kicked at the roof rocks absently, putting hands in her coat pockets and wandering over towards Thor and Bruce “No, that’s fair. We totally should be. We kick ass.”

Jamie got her attention back. “But we passed, right? I mean, they did. You got the outcome you wanted?”

Strangely, the adults seemed to be watching the kids, rather than watching the agent for her answer. “We’re comfortable with the outcome right now, yes.” 

Phil scrunched down into his coat, leaning a little more against pop. Alma looked pleased, maybe even a little proud. Signe looked like she was plotting something, Hammer was still slung over one of her shoulders. Pop spoke, resting a hand lightly on Jamie’s shoulder but addressing the agent. “Then I think we’ll be heading home.” His tone wasn’t friendly. Not-Clair nodded curtly, and Signe handed over Hammers floppy form to one of the other agents. They started heading towards the jet.

Jamie looked back over his shoulder at the SHEILD agents. The Avengers had been SHEILD affiliated for years, but Jamie only very vaguely remembered the schism. These days, the Avengers worked in tandem with SHEILD, but the relationship wasn’t good.

Alma's voice was breezy as they got close to the jet. “You know what I think? I think Jamie should run SHEILD when he grows up. He’s good at bossing around dangerous people.”

Jamie laughed at her. Phil shook his head. “He can’t, Al. He’s gonna be too busy running the company for that.” Jamie stopped in his tracks, so did pop. Phil didn’t even pause to look behind him. 

Pop’s words made that make even less sense. “Who told you that?”

Phil did stop, turning around with the air that pausing was a major imposition. “Well _I_ don’t want it. Fuck business. I’m just gonna build shit. Jamie can worry about the rest of it.”

“What?” Jamie squeaked. 

Pop put a hand on his arm, soothingly. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

Signe put her hands on her hips with mock indignation. “He has a prior engagement as our leader.”

Alma giggled. “Oh, Jamie, you’re overbooked for forever.” She looked at Phil. “Oh, we elected Jamie the leader of the tower kids, ok?”

Jamie expected a sarcastic answer from Phil, but all he got was “Yeah, ok.”

He looked up at pop, but pop just looked…proud. So he wasn’t imagining the lack of sarcasm in all of this. 

Thor nodded approvingly. “A fitting choice.”

They were all crazy.

He looked back over his shoulder, and the SHEILD lady was watching him back, probably listening in. Oh great, so he’d just been elected the leader of the next generation of exceptional people in the tower in front of SHEILD. And suggested as the heir of Stark Industries. Now they’d be evaluating him, to. Natasha’s voice was suddenly close, and quiet. “Don’t worry. You’ll be fine. You have backup.”

He glanced over the rest of them. You really couldn’t ask for better backup. 

He turned around to face SHEILD directly. His heart started pounding in his chest. Was he really going to do this? Alma joined him at his side. Yeah, he was. Alma muttered to him. “You want to talk to her?”

Jamie swallowed, and nodded. Alma nodded with a grin and trotted over to the SHEILD agent. Clint’s voice was behind him. “Alma wait, what the hell-“

Alma went over to not-Clair, and exchanged a few chipper words Jamie couldn’t make out. The Agent followed Alma over back to Jamie. “Yes?”

Jamie took a steadying breath. He really hoped he wouldn’t throw up anymore. “Ok, first off, what’s your name?”

“I’m agent Trottman.”

Jamie nodded. He was pretty sure he only looked about 60% as terrified as he felt. “Ok, Agent Trottman. So ah, here’s the thing. My brother and sisters did what they were supposed to. They passed. “

“I hope you’re not going to try to convince me to take you off threat-watch Mr. Potts-Rogers. Because-“

“No, you keep us on threat-watch. You can even add me, if you want.”

“You already are.”

Oh. He swallowed. Great. Well, whatever. “Ok. Fine. That’s fair. That’s all fair. You know what we can do. And we’re still really young. Ten years from now, we’re going to be a lot more influential.”

The air shifted, going tense. “Are you threatening SHEILD, Mr. Potts-Rogers?”

Jamie shook his head. “No. Just the opposite. But I am saying that the things we do and the things we decide are going to matter.”

She gave him a shrewd look. “Agreed.”

He swallowed again. He was pretty sure he was turning red. Everyone on the roof who wasn’t unconscious was watching him now. “Ok. Good. So…it’s in everybody's best interest if we can get along.” He took another breath. “The Avengers barely tolerate working with you. But the Avengers aren’t going to be the Avengers forever. But when that happens, we’ll still be here. “

“I’m sensing you want something here.” She said, sounding unimpressed but looking intrigued, at least.

“I want us to try and get along.” He said, trying to sound confident. She raised an eyebrow. “None of us are joining SHEILD, but I think it’s going to be in everyones best interest if we can work together. You know what we can do, and we all grew up knowing what you can do. Together we could do a lot. But.” He shifted, trying to stand up straighter. “That’s only going to work if we can trust each other. The people in your agency who did whatever they did to upset our parents might not even be there anymore. Probably wont be there anymore by the time we’re in charge of things. But you know ahead of time who we are, and what we stand for. You have a few years to become the kind of agency we can work with. Because you already know what we think of you is going to matter.”

“And that we can get into your shit if we feel like it.” Phil answered dryly. 

“And that we don’t _require_ you in order toto be effective.” Signe added.

Alma nodded. “Yeah, you should really be sucking up to us.”

Jamie nudged her quiet. That was a little too far. She squeaked a protest but quieted down.

Agent Trottman raised both eyebrows this time. “Did you have something in mind?”

Wait, did he? He ran as fast as he could through options. The opportunity to suggest a goodwill gesture from SHEILD wasn’t going to come up that often. 

What did he need? His mind drew a blank. He had everything he needed. What Phil needed SHEILD couldn’t provide. He didn’t trust them well enough to ask about protection for Signe and so far she’d never needed it. 

Alma.

“Full, legitimate citizenship for Alma. And Clint and Natasha if they want it. Without a lot of custody mess. I know you have the right government contacts to do that.”

Alma stared at him with an expression close to shock. He couldn’t see any of the adults from where he was standing, and didn’t want to look so uncertain that he had to look behind him. Alma's attention whipped back to Clair, who shrugged comfortably. “I’ll see what I can do.” Alma stared owlishly at her. Clair looked at her. “Preferred full name?”

“Oh. Uh. Alma Amiin Banner Barton. Two “i’’s in Amiin.”

“All right, Ms. Barton, We’ll be in touch.”

Alma nodded vaguely. Agent Trottman offered a hand, and Jamie took it, somewhat hesitantly. She had a firm, but non-aggressive handshake. Mom had made him practice his, and he knew it was flawless no matter how he felt.Agent Trottman gave them all a once over. “Thank you all for your assistance today.” She nodded, and walked back to her own helicopter.

Jamie turned, head high but resolutely not looking at anyone, and marched himself onto the quinjet. 

As soon as he was well away from the door, he dropped, landing with a thud on his butt. “Ohmy _god_ I’m so glad that’s over.”

Pop was just a step behind him, still posed as if he’d been about to catch Jamie when he sat suddenly. He was staring at Jamie like he’d never seen him before. Natasha and Clint looked more like they couldn’t believe he’d had the nerve.He looked at them. “Was that completely stupid? I mean, was that a bad idea? Just everyone was talking about me like I’m some leader and I could tell she was listening in to that and it seems like if we’re going to be on threat watch we should tell them we’re watching them back because you guys always have so next it’ll be us and…was that stupid? Oh my gosh…Clint, Natasha, I’m sorry. I should have asked you first but I didn’t want to seem…I don’t even know.”

Phil was leaning by the door, hands still in his coat pockets. “I thought it was awesome.”

Jamie smiled almost apologetically at Phil. Yeah, ok, Phil would like seeing a skinny kid tell off a massive worldwide agency. That was just Phil. 

Natasha had a small, triumphant smile starting. “You just opened negotiations with SHEILD.”

“At fifteen.” Clint added, deadpan tinted with shock.

Jamie peered up at them all. “Is that OK?”

Natasha and Clint exchanged glances. She spoke. “I’ll want to keep an eye on things but…yes. I think it’s a good idea.”

Alma grabbed Clint's arm. “So the ID? I can take it?”

Clint nodded. “I think so.”

Alma squealed. She hugged Clint's arm.

Jamie leaned his head back against the wall with a bang. He wanted to sleep for a week. Pop offered him a hand up, and he took it. He looked up at pop, nervously. Pop smiled down looking almost as nervous, for some reason. 

Natasha strode past them. “Ok, everybody. Take your seats. Time to head home.”

* * *

Phil let himself space out on the brief trip home. It was better than thinking. His mind kept trying to wander back to it’s default subject, but there wasn’t any point in that, now. His work was gone. Nearby, Jamie was sacked out- limp against his seat, eyes closed. He looked a little corpse-like. Phil shivered and tried to make his mind go blank again. Bruce was another seat over, actually unconscious still, Alma leaning against him, smiling contentedly like the world was suddenly perfect. He saw Steve still watching him. It made him feel self-conscious and safe at the same time. Nobody was talking.

 

He was going home. He didn’t know what to make of that, or how to sort out his feelings. He was desperate for it- the safety and comfort of home. But he was still worried about his reception. Mom and dad said he should come home. Steve genuinely seemed to want him to. He tried to focus on that. He’d know more once he could see them and let his vision make up for the lack of data inherent in text communication.

 

The flight didn’t last long enough. He wasn’t ready when it touched down. Jamie was. He bolted up out of his seat before the door was up and the stairs were down. Alma took the opportunity to fling her arms around him again, smiling and sniffling. Jamie was only fifteen and he was coming home a SHEILD negotiator and a modest hero.

 

Phil hung back, trying to keep out of the line of sight of the two- no, three people in the docking bay. Jamie was first off, rushing right into mom’s waiting arms. She pulled him close, looking like she might never let go. His throat turned narrow and his chest tightened. Dad was there and- shit, was he crying? He tried to remember the last time he’d seen that. Dad was fussing over Jamie as much as mom was, hugging and smiling and looking so relived.

 

Alma bounced off down the landing after him, and got a similar treatment. Mom even let go of Jamie long enough to hug her, and Tony took his turn, to. Clint and Natasha finished up in the cockpit. They exchanged looks and Clint went down to join the others as Natasha held back, gesturing to a slightly reluctant Signe. Thor very carefully gathered up Bruce and nodded for Signe to follow him.

 

Signe looked at Phil behind Thor’s back. She looked about as afraid as he felt. Neither of them were sure they should be there. He couldn’t even dredge up an attempt as a reassuring response. But Natasha could. She reached up to smooth a hand over Signe’s shoulder reassuringly. **NATASHA: Come on, Kotik.** Signe’s shoulders loosened a notch, and she nodded, trying to muster her courage. She brought her chin up and walked off the jet.

 

Should he be worried about that? He hadn’t wanted Signe to be here.

 

But how much of that had been just him not wanting to be exiled alone?

 

No, his reasoning had been sound. Signe couldn’t be allowed to hurt dad. He held his breath as she walked down towards the others. Mom looked up from where she was trying to fuss over Jamie and Alma at the same time and gave a bright, if teary, smile, reaching out an arm. That did the trick, and Signe jogged the last few steps to mom, who hugged her tight. Jealousy was absolutely clawing at him now, as he watched text scroll past from the conversations outside the plane. Praise and endless reminders that everyone was alright.

 

He tensed as dad moved in front of Signe. Dads lip’s were tight and his eyes were intense, scrolling over her face. Signe tried to look brave but couldn’t manage not to look like she wanted to bolt. Dads arm moved- not quickly, but with certainty, and looped up around her neck, pulling her down. She resisted a split second before registering what he wanted. She moved faster, wrapping both arms around him carefully as he tightened his good arm around her shoulders.

 

Phil realized he was leaning forward from where he was lurking, back away from the door. He _wanted_ that. And violence against one of your own had to be harder to forgive than failure, right? If Signe was wanted back- by mom and dad, even…

 

He jumped so hard he almost fell over with a large hand laid on his back.

 

Oh. Steve.

 

Steve gave his arm a very gentle squeeze. He was doing that heartbreakingly sincere thing he did sometimes that Phil never knew how to cope with. Phil watched his face for a moment, not focusing on the text scrolling past. One message caught his attention.   **NATASHA: Lastochka.**

 

He swiveled his head around, and Natasha was standing just outside the jet door, one hand out, beckoning. Just like with Signe, the old pet name had the desired effect on him. He looked back up at Steve for a last additional reassurance. He was surprised when Steve bent down and kissed the crown of his head. Ok, so everyone was going to treat him as if he was little.

 

That should piss him off. It was embarrassing. But half-remembered comforts from when he was small floated through his mind. He remembered warm arms around him and hands smoothing back his hair and soothing voices creating a palpable sense of safety and belonging. It wouldn’t be the same- he was too big to curl up like that in anyone’s arms and he couldn’t hear their voices.

 

He realized that the text has slowed to nearly a stop. **STEVE: Come on.** He put a tiny, suggesting pressure on Phil’s shoulder blade. Phil let it move him forward. He shouldn’t be this nervous, should he? They told him to come home. He was just doing what they’d asked him to. It wouldn’t be like when he left- that cold, silent cutoff. They asked for this.

 

He stepped off the jet, and all eyes were on him. His face burned. He didn’t know where to look. He wanted to watch the rest of them for reactions but didn’t dare. He had Steve’s hand on his shoulder and Natasha’s light hand on his arm, guiding him forward. He settled on carefully watching his feet.

 

**DAD: _Oh, shit._**

 

Phil looked up, unable to contextualize the words without tone, his system readying to panic all over again.

 

By the time he looked up there wasn’t anything to see but a blur of steel grey hair. Arms locked tight around him- one across his back and the other up into his hair to pull Phil’s head down to his dad’s shoulder. There was no room for ambiguity here. Dad was about to crush him he was so intent on pulling Phil closer. Phil could feel dad’s breath- ragged and shuddering. His grip was restless, kept shifting slightly, as if simultaneously pulling Phil in close and checking for injuries. Phil’s brain and body locked up again, confused by the sudden influx of major signals. He couldn’t even seem to unlock well enough to inhale.

 

He closed his eyes, trying to cut down the data stream to something manageable. He didn’t need his eyes to recognize mom’s delicate, shaking hands preceding her arms wrapping around him to join dads, pulling herself towards them. Again, no room for ambiguity.

 

He could feel dad’s jaw moving, talking. He didn’t have to open his eyes to know the words. Lines of reassurance and comfort. Phil was distantly surprised to find that while he missed the sounds of it, it mattered so much more to know they were still being offered.

 

Dad pulled away, and Phil’s eyes snapped open. But there wasn’t any rejection to see, just his parents. Mom’s makeup was a mess and her nose was red. Up close, Phil was just as sure dad had been crying. Dad’s hand pressed to the side of his face, and moms hand carded through his hair and it was just exactly like he remembered.

 

Mom’s other hand gripped one of his. Worry was starting to rise in both their expressions and he noticed he hadn’t moved yet, except inasmuch as to let them tilt his hands, his head. He squeezed moms hand back, and her face crumpled and she pulled towards him again. She was crying, and dad was crying so then it would be ok, wouldn’t it? If he just…just…

 

He let the tension keeping him frozen unwind and felt the unknot in his chest loosing. He squeezed mom’s hand tight and pulled it closer, and pulled his other arm up around dad. Dad yanked him down close again, where Phil could feel his dad’s ragged breath and the movements of his reassurances.

 

He didn’t even try not to cry. He was humiliated and broken and scared and miserable and lonely and he let that all pour out of him. He pushed it out in the open air and let them soothe it off the best they could. Every point of contact told Phil he was wanted here. Protected. Forgiven. Home.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to printed_soot for copyediting. As always, I am over on Tumblr as constant-instigator with an open askbox and a fondness for taking requests :)
> 
> Getting down to the end!


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, I lied. 
> 
> Well, I didn't lie. I just can't count. There are twenty THREE chapters, and an epilouge.

Bruce woke up somewhere dark, on something soft, with a pillow, a blanket, a faint hum of electricity nearby, and no other sound. No, not quite no other sound. Breathing, he could hear several people breathing. One of them snored.

He opened his eyes to a familiar tradition made a little less familiar with the changed proportions of it’s participants. He was laying on what must be Pepper’s new couch, facing a mostly dark room, with just enough light to see it’s other occupants by. From where he was now, he could see Rhodey sleeping on the other arm of the couch, Signe in a sleeping bag on the floor, Thor sleeping directly _on_ the floor, Clint taking up half of a full sized air mattress, Natasha claiming the other, and Alma curled in a nest of blankets on the ottoman.

He remembered this. A tradition that had grown slowly over the early years, a way of coping with the bad missions, the kidnappings, the things that made them all need to keep the others in their line of sight, at least for a little while. At least while they were sleeping and vulnerable. Always at Pepper’s place, in the greatroom. Other than Tony’s, it was the only one big enough. From what he’d picked out of Alma’s descriptions, there hadn’t been one of these after the attack that had lost Phil his hearing. Maybe because Pepper and Tony’s places had been the damaged ones. Maybe because the house was already too divided. Whatever the problem was, it had been removed.

He sat up, wanting to see the rest of what would be laid out for him to see behind the couch. Sure enough.

Two more mattresses and one more sleeping bag. One mattress had Steve taking up half of it. The other had Pepper and Phil. Jamie was in the sleeping bag, at the end of the couch, where he’d be visible to the majority of the others. Or, possibly, where the maximum number of people would be visible to him.

The other intended occupant of Steve’s bed was up keeping watch in the kitchen. Tony was holding a mug and staring across the room and out the window, lost in his own thoughts. Bruce sat up a little further, and this time the motion caught Tony’s attention.

Someone had taken the time and attention to deliberately include Bruce in this: wrap him up with the rest of them in the most comfort-driven ritual at their disposal. His blazer was neatly folded by his head with his glasses. Everything around him had been laid out to include him. But he still felt some tension loosen in his chest as Tony’s face broke out in a wide, genuine smile for him, and he waved him over to the kitchen. Without a word, without even asking, he had been inducted back in.

He stood, gathering up the flannel blanket for warmth, and as a little reminder it’d been put on him in the first place. He stood, trying to be quiet. Once he did, he had a better view of Alma, curled up in relaxed contentment like a kitten. He’d hardly been able to speak to her yesterday. Their real reunion cut short by the circumstances.

What she’d done- what she understood the need for- was more than a little overwhelming. She’d protected him. Not just from the goons, but from the Hulk.

He leaned over her, realizing she was actually there in front of him, not through a screen, and reached a hand down, letting the tips of his fingers rest on the solid puff of one braid. He’d watched her hair through vid screens and photos Tony sent all these years. It was a comfort. Alma didn’t like strangers touching her. Seeing her hair, always in some careful, natural braids, was more proof than even her words could have been that the people here were taking care of her. Taking the time to look after her and sit with her for hours on end. Celebrating her. Bruce himself wasn’t much good at it, and by her roots, it needing doing again, soon. His Herman Munster hands weren’t suited to this kind of delicate work. But maybe he could help- take out the current braids, if nothing else. Then one of the others would put them back new. Pepper, Signe, Natasha, even Tony…but most likely, Clint.

Clint. That would be a hard talk.

For now, he leaned over, and allowed himself one chapped-lipped kiss to the side of her forehead. She didn’t wake up. She was a sound sleeper, when she knew she was safe. He kept his voice to a whisper, "Good job."

He stepped carefully over the other sleeping bags, around the other bodies, tucked securely throughout the room, and got himself to the kitchen. Tony was still grinning at him, and gestured invitingly at the kitchen counter stool next to him. Everything was redecorated from the last time Bruce was here, but the bones of the space were the same, the contours of the room were the same as their last aftermath sleepover, even if the contours of the participants weren’t. Tony kept his voice low. "Hey, Sleeping Beauty. Those darts are only supposed to last an hour. Looks like somebody needed a nap."

Bruce stretched a little. "Yeah. It was a long trip back. I…haven’t been sleeping much."

"Feeling better now?"

Bruce sat, looking out over the dim landscape of his family. The people he hoped were his family. "A little, yeah."

"You know they’re not gonna let you do that again, right? Your disappearing act?"

Bruce smiled tightly. "Honestly, I’m a little surprised I didn’t wake up in the dog house."

Tony laughed a little. "They’re pissed. Not that pissed. Not enough to let you out of their sight. Especially since we’d have to _build_ a doghouse- You’re staying now, right? You’d better be staying. There are some very scary people here who will be pretty angry if you’re not staying. And they know I can track you now." Bruce could hear the tiny tick of worry in Tony’s voice.

Bruce licked his lip, considering. Alma wanted him to stay. So did Phil, and so, apparently, did Tony. He wondered who had removed his shoes, had folded his jacket. Whose invitation was that evidence of? "You’re sure about that."

"Hey, I’m not the one who napped through the reunion. I was there. Trust me, if you try to leave now you will find yourself thoroughly stalked by angry superheroes."

"It's fine. I jumped ship. I expected them to be angry." Bruce answered, distractedly, still looking over the other occupants of the room. The truth was, even if he was out of their good graces, he’d be staying anyways, and put in the work to try and get back on their good sides again.

He wasn’t looking directly at Tony, but he caught the other mans frown, the flicker of fear in his eyes. "Bruce.-" a pause. Tony had misunderstood. "You look younger than your last call."

Bruce turned in place, reaching for the coffee maker, and the mugs already set beside it. There were a few emptied ones already, from shifts before Tony. He found a clean one. "Botox." He answered evenly, instead of attempting any real denial. He poured the coffee as Tony frowned, then turned back around with it. "I’m staying."

He was surprised by Tony’s exaggerated exhale, and the transparently relieved way he suddenly slumped. He looked at Tony, curious and looking for signs of irony. Tony glanced up at him, and looked annoyed by Bruce’s expression. "What? I like having everyone here. And I wasn’t looking forward to the shitstorm that you leaving again would generate."

"How about the shitstorm my staying will generate?"

Tony waved him off, sitting upright again. "At least that’s got the payoff of you being here. C’mon. I need my lab partner."

Bruce hid a smile behind his coffee mug. He missed his family the most, but that lab was also highly ranked on the list of things he’d missed about living here. He pointed to where a disorientingly tall and scruffy Phil was laying still next to his mom. "Looks like you have one."

Tony looked over to Phil, and his expression glowed with the kind of proud, loving peacefulness Bruce envied. "Wait till you meet him. I mean, actually meet him. The way he is now. I mean he’s- you might not have gotten the complete impression- meeting him not at his best, But he’s-" Tony shook his head, defensiveness seeping out in favor of that glow. He shrugged helplessly. "He’s incredible. I’m so proud of him. Of all the kids."

"I see we all made it back all right."

Tony blinked at him. "Oh, that’s right. You sort of dozed through everything, huh?" Tony warmed to his new subject immediately. "Well, long story short, Alma saved your ass with the darts I made Jamie and all those hand-to-hand skills Clint’s been heaping on her. Signe intercepted the rat bastard that did this to Phil and hog-tied him for SHEILD to lock away in a cold dark cell somewhere for all eternity. Jamie tranqed out Hammer who held him at fucking gunpoint." Some of Tony’s pride tinged here with heat of anger Bruce felt echo through his own body, but ebbed back again, replaced by sorrow, but no less pride. "And Phil…deleted everything before Hammer could run with it." His eyes landed on Phil again, sacked out completely.

So he had deleted it. Bruce felt a pang of guilt. He’d encouraged that. If not total deletion, then a halt to the research. It seemed like something to be confessed. Something he needed to be forgiven for. He turned to Tony, but Tony interrupted him before he could open his mouth. "Is that awful? Should I not be proud of him for that? It seems kind of awful. It’s not like I want him to be deaf, I just-"

"I get it." Bruce assured. Phil had reached a point in his life, and from the sound of it, so had Signe, where their morals had to stop being selfish. They weren’t kids anymore, automatically deserving protection at all costs. They were going to be adult members of their communities. Making their own contributions, having their own accountability to the larger world. "He makes a good lab partner for you."

Tony smiled again, nostalgically. "For now." He looked back at Bruce. "But every birds got to leave the nest eventually."

"I don’t think that’s his focus right now, Tony," Bruce cautioned.

Tony nodded. "Yeah, this probably bought me some time of having him live here full time. But eventually, he’s going to strike out on his own. He’s going to have to know that he can. Next time, we’ll do a better job of making sure he’s ready. Or that I’m ready." He tilted his head, ruefully. "He might be closer than me." He looked back at Bruce. "You though, this _is_ the life you built yourself. So I have no excuse to let you go again. So," he pointed at Bruce with his mug, " _You_ will be my lab partner, and _he,_ " he pointed at Phil, "will be my son." 

Bruce considered this for a moment. "Sounds healthy."

Tony huffed tiredly. "I’m trying." He raised an eyebrow. "Fuck if I know how to be a parent to an adult though."

Bruce considered how they had handled themselves in a crisis. They had protected Bruce, not the other way around. "They…don’t seem to need us as much as I expected."

"Not for protection or cash anyways," Tony agreed. "But… they seemed to like all the hugging and shit yesterday. So, there’s that." He concluded, thoughtfully. "There’s that."

Bruce nodded. "Speaking of hugging…you and Steve?"

Tony flashed a bright, wicked grin. "Well, I hadn’t had anything improbably amazing fall into my lap in a while."

"If Steve falls into your lap your going to break your hip."

Tony laughed, more at ease with being teased about his age than he had been on their last call, months ago. "I’d say I’m sure he’ll be gentle, but I’m kind of hoping that he wont be, sometimes."

Bruce rolled his eyes. He looked back out over the family, and settled back. He didn’t need any more sleep. "Hey, would it be ok if I took a shift? I’m up, now." He wasn’t sure if it’d be allowed. If he’d still be trusted to keep lookout on them, after being gone. Even for this, when the lookout was more a trick of psychology than an actual guard. Maybe he was even less suited to being a symbolic guardian than a real one.

But Tony nodded, tiredly. "Sounds good. I would not mind getting back to bed. These last few months have kind of kicked my ass."

Bruce nodded back towards Steve on the big mattress. "Go, I’ve got this."

Tony took him at his word, and nodded.

Bruce watched as Tony did a brief circuit of the room, pausing repeatedly just to rest his eyes on one or the other figure, lingering especially over each of the kids, before tucking himself back against Steve, and unabashedly wrapping one thick arm across him before closing his eyes with a sigh.

Bruce settled himself in for a long wait. Even if they were angry at him, he’d stay right where they might need him, right where he needed them.

* * *

Signe woke up blearily, vaguely aware xe was laying on a floor, instead of a bed, but in a sleeping bag, so that should be all right. Xe opened xyr eyes and ah, yes. Xe was home again. There was father, and Alma, Clint and Natasha, all here. Xe turned xyr head- Jamie, and some feet. Also Bruce, awake now, still here, and the current lookout, sitting in the kitchen. He nodded to xyr. Xe nodded back a greeting.

It was still night. Xe crawled halfway out of xyr sleeping bag, peering around the couch, wanting to see and confirm. Phil, check. Ms. Potts, check. Tony (snoring), check. Steve, check. All accounted for. Everyone safe and sound.

Xe allowed xyrself to sag for a moment against the side of the couch, running a hand through xyr hair. Yesterdays supposed victory still sat like a tangled knot in xyr heart. It was right, but held no satisfaction. Xe felt no more a hero today than before.

Although, xe felt a bit less like a henchman, at least. Xe could at least claim xyr actions as xyr own.

Xy checked them all over again, aware faintly of Dr. Banner’s eyes following xyr around the room. Xe tucking some blankets away from Alma’s face, silently apologizing to her for not having been there to defend them, or for the reunion. Father, Clint, Natasha, all fine. Xe paused again beside Jamie’s sleeping bag. Even in sleep he looked serious. Such was the weight of leadership, xe supposed. Signe didn’t dare to touch him, knowing he would wake if xe did. Brave Jamie. Xe would apologize to them all properly for failing to defend them, when they woke up.

Steve and Tony made a strange scene, curled up in a pile together, strangely intimate for the venue, if fitting to the purpose of the tradition. Tony’s head still turned to his right, facing where Phil slept in a sprawl on his stomach beside his mother, also turned to face him, in her sleep. He was bracketed by his parents and protectors. The ones who xe had unfairly dismissed days ago. When the time had come, and when he had allowed them, they had been there after all.

But would Phil see it that way? He had said he wanted to go home. Had collapsed into their embraces, and for the brief period before he’d slept, had docilely and thankfully allowed every point of contact offered to him. This couldn’t be any more clearly where he wanted to be.

But he may share the same fear xe still had tucked inside. This is where they wanted to be and where they were wanted. But was it where they belonged?

Xe knelt by Phil. Xe hadn’t spoken to him last night. He had barely spoken at all, focusing instead on language of hands and contact and wordless comforts. For much of his brief time awake, he hadn’t even worn the glasses.

But he’d kept his eyes down. That much xe had seen. He had come back, but xe doubted he believed he belonged here.

Xe looked up, back to Dr. Banner, whose gaze had turned sad. Alma clearly believed he meant to stay, to undo his own self-exile. But he had not woken before Signe had followed Phil down into deep, exhausted sleep. Bruce had left in order to protect his family. How could he justify returning, then? How could Signe and Phil justify returning?

Signe didn’t want to leave again. This was no cage for xyr, this was the home of xyr family. Xe felt tears burn xyr eyes and xe looked down at Phil. He needed them so much. Xe sniffled, trying to stay quiet. Xe couldn’t protect him, alone. Xe had failed him. Signe allowed xyr head to dip forward, bending over to rest xyr forehead on the edge of the mattress. Phil had sacrificed so much, surely now he could allow himself some comfort beyond one night? It was being freely offered. Signe clamped a hand over xyr mouth, trying to stay quiet. Phil was safer here. Jamie was safer here. And xe didn’t want to leave. Xe sniffled.

A hand, blunt and heavy but not large, rested gently on xyr shoulder. Signe looked up at Bruce, who was smiling regretfully, and holding a finger to his lips. Yes, xe mustn’t wake the others. Signe nodded, sitting up and trying to pull xyrself together.

A soft noise of irritation caught xyr attention as xe sat up. Phil’s eyes were slitted open, partially awake and watching them.

Partially awake was good enough for Signe. Xe bent down again and scooped him into xyr arms, holding him tight as was safe. Phil made one confused noise, but no move of resistance. He put his arms around xyr, and pulled in close, hiding his face against Signe’s shoulder.

But Bruce’s hand prompted xyr again, and xe looked at him. He nodded towards the kitchen, looking at them both. Signe looked at Phil, who nodded back in resigned agreement. Xe helped him to his feet, scooped up the glasses from the floor, and the followed Bruce back to the kitchen, keeping an arm around Phil’s bony and slumped shoulders. Xe was sorry xe’d woken him, but he’d gone to sleep not much before xyr, and could go back whenever he wanted, and he didn’t seem to mind.

Xe guided him to a stool, and sat him down. He allowed it, eyes still downcast. Bruce reached a hand to Phil’s arm and xyr brother looked up, smiling weakly but sincerely. Even a small gesture from his mentor was a comfort to him. Brilliant Alma. Signe looked at Bruce hopefully, a bit shy. He understood, and reached out one arm to xyr. Signe took the opportunity, circling one arm around Bruce and dropping xyr head to his shoulder. He hugged xyr gingerly, the same way he did the other, more fragile children. It was strange, how small he seemed now. And he smelled of dust and the outdoors. Xe lingered a moment before pulling back. Signe sniffled a little. "I missed you. We all did. I'm so glad Alma was able to talk to you."

Phil had finished booting up the glasses, and leaned his head on his hand, his elbow on the table. "Yeah, Signe needs anger management training. You should get on that," he commented blandly.

Signe gave a flinch of acknowledgement, looking at Bruce who was, thankfully, watching them both with the dry fondness xe remembered well. If Alma was Bruce's informant, he would have heard about that. He looked at xyr. "Did you lose your temper?" Signe hesitated, but xe had already acknowledged this to Phil, and shook xyr head. "I didn't think so." Signe looked down at the counter, leaning forward at the elbows, wishing, for once, xe didn't tower over everyone so much, and feeling very young.

Bruce sat back. "You two look pretty down. The way Tony tells it you kids saved the day yesterday." Signe stole a glance to Phil, but neither of them looked at Dr. Banner. There was a trace of dry amusement in his voice. "Yeah, kind of sucks, doesn't it?" That got quiet laughs out of both of them. "I tried to tell you that as kids. Heroing is mostly unpleasant."

"I believed you," Phil protested. "I never wanted to be a damn hero. I _don't like_ getting shot at."

Signe rallied. "I don't _like_ getting shot at. I just..." Xe drooped again. "I like being of use. This world took me in. I wanted to protect it."

"Past tense?" Bruce prompted. Signe said nothing. Xe believed that xyr actions yesterday were correct. But xe looked across the room at Tony, grey haired and tucked into the Captains protective embrace. Even now, xe wasn't sure xe'd been wrong there, but xe wanted peace with him.

Phil straightened. "Bruce. Hey," he nudged Signe towards Bruce. "Tell Signe what you told me yesterday. About toxicity and everything." He frowned, "Only be a little nicer, geez."

Signe frowned, lost, but looked at Bruce attentively. Toxicity was the concern, now. And Bruce would know something of it. Of absence being the best protection you can offer the ones you love. Signe choked up at the prospect. Perhaps Bruce would not only say he was leaving, but that they should leave again as well. Maybe he would say they didn't deserve to be around Alma, or Jamie, or Tony.

"Ah." Bruce started, the dawn of comprehension in his tone. "So that's the two of you, huh? You both reached the same conclusion about yourselves?" He nodded. "Ok, I can see it." Signe hung xyr head. "You both have the capacity to be very dangerous to other people. I'm surprised you aren't already on SHEILDs threat watch.

"We are," Signe interrupted. "All of us."

That seemed to stun him for a moment. "All? Alma-?" Signe nodded. Bruce nodded, slowly, digesting the information, eyes focused inwards. "Ok. Well." He took another moment. Signe had no frame of reference for what he might be experiencing. Signe had expected the event, but what might it be like to have your daughter be labeled as dangerous when you weren't expecting it? "Jamie?" Signe nodded again. Bruce seemed a little overwhelmed, eyes unfocused. "Huh. I guess you've made an impression." Signe thought xe detected anxiety under it all. He, like the others, and after all this time, was firstly concerned with their safety.

A slow, slightly mean smile spread over Phil’s face. "Jamie totally told off one of their agents yesterday. He said they'd better start shaping up because they know we're gonna be around and wont deal with them like the are now."

Bruce looked at him blankly. "Jamie." Phil nodded, there was pride in his smirk, for his brother. For their brother. Bruce glanced back at Jamie, small and nestled in a child’s cartoon sleeping bag. "Jamie." Phil nodded again.

"I wouldn't say he told them off." Signe added. "What was it Clint said- he 'opened negotiations.' It was all perfectly civil."

Bruce stared at them, searching for irony or tricks. Signe shrugged. For Jamie to act heroically was no surprise to xyr, for him to act as a leader even less so. Bruce blinked rapidly a few times, adjusting his view. "Ok. I...have some catching up to do, apparently."

" _Bruce,"_ Phil prompted impatiently. Slightly too loud. Signe put a hand on his, to signal him. He hunched his shoulders a little, understanding, glancing back at the room. He went to a whisper. "Just tell him the thing."

"Right." Bruce shifted gears. He spread his hands. "It's really not anything revolutionary. Not exactly what I call deep," he looked at them both. "Pretty simple, actually. You are both- at this point, inherently dangerous. In that you both could easily cause a lot of harm to others. Right?" They both nodded. "You can't- you aren't going to _change_ that. As of now, that's innate. Just like me, or Steve, Thor, any of the team. By itself that’s not a bad thing. It's just a byproduct of power. And power is the ability to do work- to accomplish things.

"Toxicity though, that’s a separate issue. For you two- that's not about who you are. It's about what you do. How you are with other people. It's more...intimate, because it follows you into your relationships. If you're powerful, your reach can be a lot further. But it's not inherently part of you. You two- neither of you have the Hulk. You aren't out of your own control. At least, you shouldn't be."

"I-" Signe started. Xe felt bad interrupting. He clearly wasn't done yet, but. "I don't think you're toxic, Dr. Banner."

His smile was more than a little indulgent. "Thanks. I appreciate that. I do. But I happen to disagree with you. But, I'm here. I'm here even though I know that part of me is incurably toxic."

Phil made a frustrated noise, turning to Signe. "He's taking forever to say it, but the point is that he thinks being toxic is a choice. That we can fix it-"

Bruce interrupted "Not a choice." Phil frowned, concerned. "Not _a_ choice. Hundreds of choices. Every single day. Frankly, I'm not very good at it. At making those right choices, day after day. But I'm willing to try. I'm not... I'm not a _good_ person," he held up his hands as they both started to object. "Thanks, but no. Trust me on this. I'm not. But neither is Natasha. You don't have to be a good person to do good things. You can be a naturally violent, selfish, cynical person and still do good things. If you really commit yourself to it. To making those decisions every day."

He was gesturing again. "I tried being on my own. I got tired of making those choices every day, and I felt sure one day I wouldn't be able to make myself do it. Having a family is _hard._ And parenting-" he took a breath, looking at Phil. "I was concerned, genuinely concerned that if you died, Tony would follow. By his own actions- neglect, or recklessness, or alcohol, I don't know." Phil’s eyes widened, confused and horrified. "Being in a family, really participating in a family, especially as a parent, it's the most vulnerable, terrifying thing I know. Neither of you have ever been without family, so you have no basis of comparison. But in a family, whatever toxicity is in you, it's bound to rub off on the people around you. It forces you to be accountable. Especially as a parent."

He focused on them again, leaving his own demons behind for the moment. "If you're worried about being toxic, that's what you're looking at. Making hundreds of decisions every day for the rest of your lives, to try and build habits to limit that. And, when and where you can't, where your blind spots are, you have to let yourself be limited, led by the people around you who do better in those areas."

He leaned back. "That's why I'm back. I thought I could limit my toxicity by being on my own. I was wrong." He looked down, flexing one hand. "It had a pretty decent run, but ultimately, I needed to come back here, to be around the people who can contain me. I don't have the luxury of opting out of my accountability, not without completely sacrificing my morals. Not without putting the population at large in danger." He looked them both dead in the eye. "Sometimes that's what ethical power means. Not just the big, heroic sacrifices. The daily ones you have to make over and over again. The limits you allow to be put on you by the people around you. The trust you have to hold on to for that to work."

He shrugged. "That’s my working theory, anyways. I'm no expert. It's the map I'm working off of."

There was a long moment of silence.

Xe stood, feeling chastened and embarrassed, for all that Bruce clearly counted himself among their number. But when xe looked at Phil, he was watching xyr hopefully. Signe's exile was part of his. He would not abandon xyr to the world alone, anymore than xe would him. But neither would he allow xyr to stay if she would endanger the others. He would sacrifice his own happiness for their safety and xyr heart. He needed to hear xyr commitment to traveling a different path. To endless second-guessing and questions. To limits and guidance from others.

There was a desperation in his eyes that left no question as to his own willingness to make these sacrifices himself, in order to rejoin his family safely.

Signe put a hand on his shoulder, then looked to Bruce. "It's a matter of loyalty. How could we refuse?"

Phil licked his lips, trying to reign in his hopefulness, and doing a frankly poor job of it. "Think we can do it?"

Signe nodded, slowly, then more decisively. "Sure. It's simply a matter of self-improvement. People do that all the time. And we have good guides to help us. People to bounce ideas off of. We need only actually do so. That's not...so hard. Just a little humility, that's all. I'm sure that must be learnable, for the willing."

Phil perked up further. "Right. Being willing to learn humility is practically an act of humility right there....right?"

Signe nodded with a shrug, that sounded reasonable to xyr. Xe glanced at Bruce, whose smile was warm and amused now. "I think if you two want to start really thinking about the wider effects of your actions, and accept some help now and then, you'll be fine. Thor and Tony both had some...pretty notable damage to their names at one point. You have less of a hole to dig yourselves out of. And when today or...yesterday came down to the wire, you both made the right call. You can be proud of that, even if it didn't feel too good at the time."

Phil looked at Signe, his eyes up now, his posture less curled inward, an eyebrow raised. "You still want to be a hero, huh?" The sneer from the last time he asked was gone.

Signe lowered xyr eyes. It would mean sacrifices unknown yet. It would mean placing priorities outside of xyr personal affection. But. "I do."

"Tch. I still say it sounds like a shit deal. But whatever. If it's what you want, I'm sure you'll figure it out."

Signe looked him over. So thin, unable to hear, so vulnerable outside the tower. "You say that, but if I'm to be a hero...I will need to ...sometimes... focus my attentions," he could tell xe was trying to say something difficult, and watching xyr, confused and impatient. Signe straightened. This hurt to say. "To be a hero, I would have to place the wellbeing of mankind over and above your wellbeing."

She saw a flash of alarm pass over his face. But he thought, sincerely about it, focusing. "Guess I'd lose my bodyguard, huh?"

Signe leaned forward, willing him to understand. "Not always! Only when I really cant find a way to protect you _and_ mankind. Mostly it should be fine, as long as you don't...you know... _unleash_ anything."

Phil snorted. He scratched his scalp through a tangle of bedhead. "Mm. Probably better steer clear of henchmaning, then. Maybe brush up on self-defense or something."

Signe felt xyrself light up and had to struggled to maintain a low volume. "Really?" Xe reached over, grabbing both his hands as he looked at xyr, startled. "Phil, I couldn't abandon you, but your vulnerability _terrifies_ me. You don't know how happy it would make me for you to take the lead on making yourself safer. Ask your father for help- I'm sure he would!"

Phil looked utterly baffled now. "Since when are you over your grudge against dad?"

Xe looked sheepish, but was still well pleased. "Rhodey spoke with me. He is very persuasive."

Phil’s head lolled slightly to the side. "Seriously? That's over now?" he asked, unabashedly hopeful. Xe nodded again, still embarrassed. "Oh man. Oh _man._ That is great." He grinned at her, actually happy, hopeful, and it immediately drew an answering smile from xyr. It felt so good. "All _right._ We are gonna do this," he held up a hand. “We can do this. Go team detox." Signe laughed, and completed the high-five. Phil’s grin widened. He turned to Dr. Banner, offering his hand again. "Bruce. C'mon. Team detox." Bruce’s smile was more reserved, but just as genuine. He gave Phil the high five, and Phil hopped down off his stool for a one armed hug and a slap to Bruce’s back.

He held Bruce at arms length. "We can do this." He torqued his shoulders around, looking at Signe. "We can do this." He let go of Bruce, and circled around to behind Signe, shoving xyr back towards the living room. "Ok. Come on. Go."

Signe's brows drew together. "Where am I going?"

He gestured at the living room. "Go make up with Tony," he prompted, as if it was the only possible interpretation.

Signe let xyr reluctance show. "He's sleeping."

"Don't pansy out on me Thorsdottir. Put your money where your mouth is."

"I'm- I'm not 'pansying out'. Rhodey already told me he was willing to put it in the past. _I_ am being considerate."

Phil scowled, turning to Bruce. "Bruce, second opinion?"

Bruce shook his head, amused. "I think either would be fine. I'm sure he would be _willing-_ "

Phil interrupted immediately. "Ha. There, see?" he pressed his hands against xyr back again. "So get it done before everybody wakes up and there’s an audience to freak him out."

Signe glanced back at Bruce again, but the older man just shrugged.

Well, very well then. Signe shrugged, and silently left the kitchen area. Phil and Bruce stayed behind, but xe could feel them watching xyr.

Xe was confronted again with the oddity of the scene before xyr. Of Captain Rogers and Tony _cuddling._ Wrapped up in an embrace of comfort and affection. Signe only very distantly remembered Tony and Pepper being married. Xe really wasn’t accustomed to romantic relationships among the adults in xyr life.

Xe crouched down.

Xe was willing to do this. Wanted it done. Even if Signe had had no remorse at all for breaking Tony’s collar bone, xe needed to apologize for all the years of mistrust. Of doubting Tony’s love and desire to protect, instead of asking.

Xe reached to touch his shoulder, but withdrew xyr hand. It may still ache. Guilt grew a little louder. Xe touched his hand tentatively, instead. "Tony? Tony, can you...?"

Tony blinked his eyes open, and squinted, less capable in the low light that xe was. When his eyes did come into focus, he saw xyr expression, and frowned. "Signe?"

Best to get it all out at once. "Tony, I'm sorry I used excessive force against you and for doubting your loyalty and for making you a scapegoat instead of treating you as part of the team and for not having asked about-"

Tony's frown melted to a sympathetic smile. He waved a loose, tired hand to still xyr. "Hey. Hey."

Now xe had started, it wasn't so easy to stop. Tears welled up, with the guilt and regret xe had been holding at bay until now. "And I'm sorry to wake you up, too, but I truly want you to know that-"

Tony was smiling broadly now, eyes still sleepy. His voice was a whisper. "All right. All right. Shh. Ah, comeon now."

"But I _am,_ Tony, I-"

His hand settled on the back of xyr neck, and xe let it draw xyr down. He kissed xyr forehead. "It's fine. It's fine, ok? I get it. It's fine." Xe sniffled again. His hand rubbed along xyr shoulders, soothing as he did when xe was small. "shh. shh. Don't get like that, ok? It's fine."

"It's _not_ fine, Tony, I hurt you, and I didn’t have to." Xe remembered his face on seeing Jamie safe. Tears in his eyes and pulling Jamie close.

He let xyr back up, and xe straightened enough to look at him. "Ok. That parts not fine. We'll both just hold on to our guilt over that day, ok?" Xe sniffed, nodded. "But it's forgiven, then, all right? Can you take that?"

"Really?"

Steve stirred. He saw Signe, and woke a little further, starting to push himself up. "What’s-"

Tony turned to his lover. "No, no. Everything’s fine. Sig and I are just making up. Go on back to sleep."

Steve did lay back down, but his gaze shifted down between them. "Oh. Yeah?"

Signe nodded, Tony arranged Steve’s arm back against him again, curling his hand around his wrist. "Yeah, all clear. Go on back to sleep."

Astonishingly, the Captain did as he was told. He sighed, and nuzzled against Tony’s neck, getting comfortable for more sleep. "Good. ‘Bout time."

"Sorry," Signe whispered. Steve smiled.

Tony looked at xyr again. He put the hand not holding his lover on xyr arm. "We're good?" Xe nodded. "Good. Oh, and I am cutting down on the drinking, ok? You go ahead and call me out if I don't."

Signe’s eyebrows raised. Tony was, himself, asking for accountability from others. Including xyr. Xe nodded. "Yes. Thank you."

He nodded, tiredly. "Ok. Good, I'm just gonna-" he pointed at his pillow.

Signe nodded. "Of course."

Tony closed his eyes again, and xe almost got back up, but Tony flicked his eyes open again, finding xyr eyes. "Oh, and in case you didn't know. Or I didn't say it often enough, or recent enough or whatever. I love you, ok?"

It caught xyr unexpectedly, and xe choked up. Xe had to tighten xyr lips to keep xyr face from crumpling. "Thank you. I- I as well."

Tony nodded, apparently well satisfied now, and shifted into his pillows, intent this time on sleep.

Xe stood, carefully, quietly. There. That should make a good start to xyr improving xyr impact on those around xyr.

Xe turned to face the kitchen, to find Phil beaming in a way xe hadn't seen since well before the last few months. Childishly joyful. Beside him, Bruce, looking, for once, peaceful. Xe looked back at Tony and Steve, serene and content.

Xe could commit to working towards an impact like this.

* * *

 

Pepper remembered this feeling. It was peaceful. She’d missed it.

But looking out over her big, strange family, she felt a sort of absolute tranquility she’d been missing. From here, she could see them all- a few still sleeping, most of them awake. All of them safe.

There was work to do today- important work. Rhodey would already have started it, back in DC. There’d be egos to soothe as relationships repaired, there’d be communication habits to start analyzing and renegotiating. She would make sure that whatever Phil needed in order for him to know this was his home would happen. There would be a lot of nerves to deal with.

She was thankful the kids were all up either before her or shortly after. She was thankful none of them so much as rolled their eyes at her fussing over them. She was thankful of the way Phil kept gravitating towards her, taking comfort from her proximity rather than shying away. His eyes were often downcast, but his glasses were on. He was doing his best.

She was thankful for the way Steve had stayed on his mattress on the floor, conversing quietly with a dreamily content Alma, rather than wake Tony or leave his side.

She was thankful for the thoughtful, watchful eyes of Natasha monitoring the room. Making notes, similar notes to the ones Pepper was making, she was sure. But she wasn’t expecting Natasha’s quiet words as she watched Jamie go to join Alma and Steve, Phil catching up with Bruce and Rhodey. Natasha leaned in, words meant for only Pepper. "Alma’s always wanted this."

Pepper smiled, maybe a little sadly. "I know. Phone calls or no, I’m sure she’s missed Bruce."

Natasha smiled back, her expression a hair more tinted with regret than Peppers. "There’s that. But I meant that she likes it when we share one space together. She likes keeping everyone where she can see them."

"Oh." Pepper sighed. "Well, it is something of a relief after everything that’s happened. I have to admit."

They were both quiet for a long minute. This part, of course, only lasted a few hours. After that, they would all split off into little subgroups. They’d have to, for some of the conversations that needed to happen. And they could hardly be expected to sleep in sleeping bags forever. Natasha’s eyes lifted, going to the primed, unpainted drywall of the newly reconstructed hallway. Pepper had refurnished the boys bedrooms, but they looked like guestrooms. They still hadn’t been occupied.

What was strange was that Natasha allowed her to see that she was thinking of saying something, but was hesitant. The display of visible ambivalence was out of place. It almost looked like shyness. Pepper could only imagine it was an invitation to ask. "What?"

Natasha hesitated another moment before meeting her eyes. The eye contact was direct, but still left some of her personal discomfort on display "Alma used to always ask me why we didn’t all just live together- separate bedrooms, but one kitchen, like a big house. She never liked my answer."

One big house for a family of eleven. Pepper could only imagine the reaction she would have had to a suggestion like that back when they were all moving in and she had her hands more than full just trying to keep track of Tony and Phil and Jamie. "Why, what did you tell her?"

Natasha shrugged. "I told her people needed their space. That I needed my space."

Pepper smiled. "Can you imagine the chaos when the kids were all little?"

Natasha nodded. "I bet she’ll be on it again, after this. Look at her."

Pepper did look. Alma was a image of innocent joy- talking to Steve but regularly looking around the room, smiling even wider. Actually, most of the people in the room looked more relaxed than usual. Natasha hesitated again before looking at her. "It might be worth considering, now."

Peppers mouth hinged open, she stared at Natasha. Of all the people to suggest something like that- Natasha was the last person Pepper would have expected. The very last. Even Bruce before her. Of course, now Bruce was in a complicated parenting situation with Clint that actually might make something like that a little more appealing for him.

And the prospect of living with Tony again seemed less problematic since Tony was with Steve.

She glanced out at the room, and realized that Signe, Steve and Phil- the 3 awake people in the room likely to have been able to eavesdrop on their conversation were all looking at her. Signe washopeful, scooching closer to Alma. Steve’s expression was more calculating, no-doubt running through options and potential problems, but actively. Honestly considering it, his fingers smoothing over Tony’s arm. Phil’s eyes were wide, vulnerable as he had looked since he’d come home, distracted from trying to talk to Bruce.

Natasha hadn’t looked. She was looking out over the skyline. Natasha _was_ the last person likely to suggest it. Which was the very reason no-one else ever would. Because they wouldn’t expect to be able to convince her. Or Pepper. Or Bruce, for that matter, but he might be a pretty soft touch now.

So if Natasha was suggesting it, the most likely holdout would be Pepper. That didn’t mean the others would necessarily agree. Only that Pepper was the most probable barrier.

It wasn’t like the kids needed the kind of constant attention they had needed when they were younger anymore. They were hardly overwhelming. The one likely to need the most handholding over the next year or so was Phil, who she’d be living with anyways. And it wasn’t like it would blur her relationship to Tony or Steve in the same way- not now they were occupied with each other. And it really might make things easier for Bruce and Clint- and help Bruce re-acclimate and not turn into a hermit in his own apartment- give the kids better access to him after so long. 

Damn. She’d half talked herself into it already. She glanced across the room again. "It might be worth a discussion, anyways."

Natasha nodded silently.

 

* * *

 

By the time Steve had finished putting all the mattresses back on the beds and re-emerged to the living room, the group had already startled splintering back into smaller sections, pretty much on their usual schedule for these sorts of things. Tasha had gone to dig Bruce's things out of storage. Signe'd launched herself at the gym and into sparring with Thor as a way of reconnecting. A nervous looking Clint had taken a grim looking Bruce down to borrow some clothes so he could wear something other than what he'd been knocked out in, and Alma had bounced along with them. So when Steve came back to the greatroom it was Pepper, Tony, Jamie and Phil. Not bad company by any stretch, but part of him couldn't shake the worry that now, with the danger passed, the groups would drift apart again.

There was just enough of the mornings atmosphere left that he let himself follow his first impulses as he rejoined them, laying a light hand on Jamie’s shoulder where he was perched on one of the kitchen stools, then bending to drop a fast kiss on top of Phil’s head, the next stool over. Both boys looked mildly embarrassed, but not displeased, and that was enough for Steve. There was a webpage up on Jamie’s pad about different types of sign language that distracted him for a moment. Tony, standing directly next to Phil, cleared his throat pointedly, looking at him expectantly. It took Steve a minute to figure out what he wanted, then he grinned. The kiss he gave Tony was quick and chaste, but both boys made disapproving noises anyways. Steve raised both eyebrows at them, but their protests seemed to be simple teasing instead of any real objections. Phil still treated them both a disapproving look where he was slouched over on the counter. "That is still really weird." Jamie snickered behind him.

Pepper leaned over the counter, smirking at Steve and Tony. "Watch out, I think Alma’s going to make it her personal mission in life to get you two married as soon as possible. Did you realize she’s never been to a wedding?"

Steve gave a small laugh. "Think we should probably date at least a month or two first." The words were out of his mouth before it occurred to him that he and Tony had never discussed anything even vaguely _approaching_ marriage, and that casually saying something like that in front of the _kids_ might be his first big misstep in their less than a week old relationship. His smile started to fade and his eyes darted to Tony.

Steve caught the very tail end of a stunned look, morphing fast into Tony trying _desperately_ to hold back a grin, and starting to turn a bit red. Steve couldn't help puffing up a little at the sight of it. At the thought of what it implied about them. Phil stared openly. His voice was a little over-loud, and shocked, and aimed at Tony. "Are you _blushing?_ I didn't even know you could do that!"

Tony opened his mouth to deny it, but even if he couldn't see his face he must be able to feel that, and Pepper and Jamie's amused expressions made it pretty clear it would be pointless. So he closed his mouth and ran a hand over his face instead. "Y’know, up until very recently, neither did I. I've done more blushing and crying in the last two months than I think the last 20 years put together.” His tone was joking, but Jamie and Peppers expressions turned sympathetic anyways. Steve put a hand on Tony's arm, rubbing a little. Tony smirked, relaxing.

Phil was still staring, now confused, and a little guilty. "Crying?" As if it hadn't occurred to him that Tony would cry over what had happened, even though Tony had been crying just yesterday, right in front of him. Jamie gave the back of Phil’s head an exasperated look, and Pepper looked at her oldest son with an expression that managed to show she would have liked to have expected better, but had known better than to do it. Tony looked at Phil, dropping the tension from his shoulders abruptly, and looking apologetically at his kid. He reached over to Phil’s chair, swiveling it suddenly back towards Pepper and Jamie, and hugged Phil’s shoulders from behind, dropping his head to rest on top of Phil’s. "Anybody mind if I borrow Agent for a couple of hours?"

Pepper clearly wasn't thrilled with the idea, but answered a wry, "As long as you bring him back in one piece, I'm willing to allow it."

Phil craned his head upwards. "What? Where are we going?"

Tony pulled back upright, but left a hand on Phil’s shoulder. "Just noticed having multiple conversations going at once seemed to be flooding the text feed. Figured by now you've had them long enough we could do some software tweaks." Phil’s eyes widened at something Tony had said, and he nodded silently. Tony shrugged. "Interpersonal communication isn't really my area of specialty. Might take us a few rounds to figure out what you need and how to make workarounds." Phil nodded again, swallowing visibly.

Pepper cut in with a businesslike tone. "Let me have a look at the changes, all right?" Tony looked at her questioningly. "Whatever we haven't got compensated for by the glasses- well, we need to revamp communication around here anyways. And this wont be the first time I've issued a communication guidelines list. At least eleven people is a lot easier to plan for than a few thousand."

Phil’s eyes were huge now, round and overwhelmed and helpless looking. Steve nodded at Pepper. "Sounds good."

Phil looked down, wiped at his nose with his hand. Tony squeezed his shoulder. "You ok?" Phil nodded, making a vaguely affirmative noise. "Wanna come up to the workshop?" Phil looked up at Tony, radiating thankfulness, eyes a little brighter, and nodded. Tony smiled, and patted Phil’s shoulder. "Ok. Come on." He nodded his head towards the doors.

Phil slid down off the stool, then hesitated, looking them over. He landed a sudden punch on Jamie’s shoulder. "Don't get shot while I'm upstairs."

Jamie rubbed the spot Phil'd hit, with a smirk and a reproachful expression. "Don't take any jobs before I look over the contracts for you." Phil reached out and messed up Jamie's hair, and Jamie batted him away. Phil smiled at Steve, then at Pepper, and turned towards the door.

Steve's guard was down and he didn't expect the slap on the ass as Tony passed him. He yelped. Tony kept walking, with a smirk in Steve's direction. Pepper tried valiantly to smother her laughter behind her hand. Steve stared incredulously for a second, and Tony winked and blew him a kiss. If he could’ve blushed, he would have. Instead he shook his head as a broad smile took him.

The door closed on Phil's voice, "I don’t think I can even imagine that sound-" and Tony laughing.

Steve took a second to regroup before turning back to Pepper and Jamie. Pepper was leaning her head on her hand. she'd stopped laughing out loud but her eyes were still laughing. "If you do marry him, I expect to be invited to give him away."

"I think if you were ever gonna give him away you would've done it by now." Steve answered back evenly, doing a pretty good job not grinning like an idiot. Jamie was smiling and shaking his head. "Too weird?" Steve offered.

"Just pretty weird. Not too weird though. I've seen weirder."

Steve couldn't disagree with that. "Yes you have."

There was a quick, perfunctory knock, followed by the door opening. Natasha. Movement between the apartments already. She was carrying a large clear plastic container, full of Bruce's unaired clothes and linens. She set it on the floor. "Mind if I hang out for a few minutes? I'm trying to give Bruce and Clint some time to talk." Pepper gestured to the stools and Natasha came over, pausing a few feet away to look at the dining table. The dishes still needed to be cleared, although the food had been pretty well cleaned out. Twelve place settings left out, one extra chair pulled up to a table that hadn't looked full to Steve in years.

Steve elected not to second guess himself. He pulled out his phone and snapped a quick picture of the table. Proof that they'd all been together again. Natasha turned an amused smile on him. Steve looked down to his phone, saving the image. "Shut it. I'm feeling sentimental." And, Natasha was the one bringing up the possibility of a daily full table. Something they’d have to discuss a little later.

She looked approving. "You could have taken it when there were people there."

"Too busy enjoying having them there," he answered back, smiling. It was starting to come to him that if neither Tasha nor Tony were gonna give him grief about being a little soppy, probably nobody in this house would. He shook it off, he'd moon about all this a little later. "We were just talking about fixing up communication around here. Especially once we get a better idea what Phil’s glasses can't compensate for as well." he let his tone suggest that he'd like Natasha to be in on that. She was sharp about that kind of thing. She wouldn't enforce anything, but she'd likely have some thoughts.

She stood a little straighter, her attention piqued and nodded bruskly, accepting her mission. "I have some ideas."

Jamie coughed softly, but it was enough to get their attention. He tensed a little at the attention, and sat up straighter. "So do I. And not just for Phil, either. I know us complaining seems like it was a million years ago but I think it still holds. All the things that have come out- most of them should have come out years ago. We all would have been better off. I can probably help with Phil too, I mean I’ve been around him the most of anyone. But speaking for the four of us, I still think we all need to keep fewer secrets from each other. It’s just dumb. I know privacy and boundaries and national security are all important, but most of the secrets around here didn’t have anything to do with any of that. And maybe Phil will stop spazzing out about needing to be an adult _right now_ if he doesn’t think things are going to be kept from him because he’s ‘too young’ or something." Jamie’s eyes flicked between them, gauging reactions and showing he wasn’t afraid to meet any of their eyes. "I’m not saying no secrets, but seriously, can’t we cut down, at least?" His expression was serious, and held more regret that Steve would have expected. He didn’t like being the center of attention, but it was clear he was speaking with conviction. For, from the sounds of it, the people who had elected him into office. He was speaking as a leader.

Steve leaned his weight on the back of one of the stools. "Have I mentioned how proud I am of you?"

Jamie rolled his eyes, just a little. "About a dozen times since yesterday."

"You listen to any of them?"

Jamie smiled, shy but real. "Yeah, pop. I heard you. Does that mean you agree with me?"

Steve moved to actually sit on the stool. "After finding out how long ago I could have had Tony, and didn’t just because neither of us could pull it together enough to say something? Yeah, I’m with you."

Jamie cocked his head, suddenly curious. "How long was it?"

Pepper snickered. It felt strange to be talking about this, but there wasn’t any reason to hide it. "Be honest, I’ve been in love with Tony since…well, about since you were born."

"….Seriously?" Jamie seemed dismayed.

Steve nodded. He wasn’t sure when he fell for Tony, but he remembered the day he realized it. He remembered the moment. As soon as he saw Jamie and Tony at the same time, he’d wanted to give them to each other. That had been when he’d figured it out. “If I’d had it in me to say something back then, you might have grown up with a mom and two fathers. How would that be, huh?"

Jamie stared at him. His expression moved from dismay to something that bordered on anger. Steve leaned back, not sure what had spurred that reaction. Jamie put his hand on his forehead, and closed his eyes, as if he had a headache. Pepper sounded concerned. "Jamie?"

Jamie dropped his hand, slightly more composed. "I’m fine. Just- geez. Please, _please_ can we not have so many secrets? If you three agree to it, I’m sure we can get everyone else to follow. Ok?"

"I’m in." Natasha agreed promptly.

"Sure honey." Pepper added, sounding as confused as Steve felt. Steve nodded again, just for good measure.

Jamie relaxed. "Ok. Hey uhm…I want to go check on Alma, ok?" he checked them both again, this time their young son, asking permission. "I just…need to make sure some things happen. I don’t think it’ll take that long." Pepper looked a little distressed. "Just downstairs, mom. Not for long."

Pepper nodded, trying to look calm. "I know. No, I know. That’s fine."

Jamie smiled apologetically, and slipped off his stool, going around the counter to Pepper, and hugged her. Pepper smiled appreciatively, and held him close. She seemed a little more content when she let him go. He smiled at her. "Won’t leave the building. I promise."

Pepper waved him off, knowing she was overreacting and embarrassed by it.

When Jamie glanced back at him, Steve got caught with a hopeful look on his face, and Jamie rolled his eyes again, but smiled. He came back around and put his arms around Steve without any hesitation. Steve responded immediately, hugging as hard as he could safely. Jamie grinned up at him, no hesitation, resentment or fear, just happiness and affection. It’d been so long.

Jamie flitted off, and gave Natasha a quick hug that seemed to startle and please her in equal parts, before jogging off to the door.

When it closed, Steve turned back to Pepper and Natasha. He started to say something, but didn’t have any words. Jamie hardly seemed like the same little boy from two months ago. He wondered if Jamie could have grown up that much, or maybe all that resolution was just waiting for him to find causes to apply himself to. Pepper and Natasha seemed to be thinking roughly the same thing.

Natasha was the first to find her voice. "He is going to be dangerous one day." It was clearly praise, pride coloring her voice. Pepper laughed.

Steve smiled, clapping his hand, ready to dig in. "So, I think we have some things to discus."

 


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohshit! Final chapter!
> 
> Epilouge next week.

 

Phil had emotional whiplash and it was disorienting as fuck.

He was glad- so completely relived to be home. To be welcomed home. Not just allowed but _wanted._ He'd been reminded every waking second that he still had a family here. Bruce had come back for him and everyone kept fussing over him. But not _only_ him. And everybody kept touching him. Every time the morning had gotten to be too much, every time he'd started to withdraw, to stumble over keeping up, someone would be there. Thor patting him on the back. Natasha smoothing a hand over his shoulder. Clint's hand on his arm. Mom pushing back his hair. Steve had kissed the top of his head. Even Bruce had been in on it. Signe and Alma kept hugging him. Jamie just sat close, with his shoulder or elbow in Phils space. And dad, with a steady hand that lingered on Phils shoulder every time he got within a couple feet of him. All these little supports Phil didn’t have to be able to hear or read to register.

And now- now he got to go _home._ To the place he most needed to be but thought he'd never be allowed back into again.

The elevator door opened on the workshop, and for a second, all Phil could think to do was stare. The lights were all on. He could see the details of the skyline from the familiar vantage point. Even the smell was the same. No music, at least that he could feel and he wouldn’t know how to ask. Things weren’t exactly where he’d left them- at least a few projects had moved since the last time he’d been up here. But the change was as familiar as anything else. The natural tides of progress were as much a part of this place as the windows.

When he didn't move of his own volition, dad steered him- one hand on Phils shoulder. Phil was working on such a delay he almost tripped over his own feet. Dad stopped guiding him forward a few feet in, let Phil just stare around the space. It did smell the same. He looked at dad, needing confirmation despite mounting evidence. "I'm...really allowed back up here?"

Dad nodded, sympathy and perfect comprehension in his eyes. **DAD: Yep.** His hand left Phils shoulder, and he spread his arms, taking in the whole workshop. **Workshop sweet workshop.**

It was cheesy. It was totally a cheesey, throw-away line, but Phil choked up. He turned his head away, trying to make sure he looked like he was rubbing the side of his nose instead of his eye. This wasn't just home- this was the part of home where he actually felt useful. Capable.

His throat felt scratchy. "I could have done it. Within a year, I could have done it." he couldn't look at dad. It was a dumb thing to say. Just pointing out again the thing he'd tried to do that he shouldn't have even been trying to do.

**I know.** Did he? Did he really belive that Phil could have? Was capable?

"I would have."

**Maybe. But you didn't.** He hung his head. He had to remind himself again that that was a good thing. Not exactly a noble sacrifice, but better than the alternative. He hadn't given something dangerous and powerful to the man who'd almost shot Jamie. That had to count for something. **So, plan B?**

Plan B. Live at home, try to stay away from people who would use his deafness against him. Get his workshop back, under supervision. Get his family back. That should be enough. After everything he'd fucked up, he needed to let that be enough.

He nodded, still looking to the side, trying to breath steady. He'd been doing enough blubbering. He was reveling in their fussing over him, but if he'd never be a real adult he at least had to be a moderatly put-together kid. Which meant not crying all the damn time. Jamie was the one whode almost been shot yesterday but he'd settled down pretty quick. Phils next inhale was unevan, labored, his chest not cooperating.

It had to be enough. Bad enough not to cope as an adult. If he couldn't even hold it together _here_ -

Well, he already wasn't really holding it together. If even Tony had noticed him failing to keep up this morning, it must have been pretty obvious.

And if they really did end up all living in one big unit- how much more frequently was that going to happen? Pretty soon even Alma would be looking down on him or pitying him.

**What's wrong with you?** Phil cringed. It wasn't remotely subtle. What kind of a dumbass question was that? Everything wrong with him was pretty blatant. **No no, shit. Sorry, still getting used to the tone issue. I didn't mean that. I didn't- ugh. Come here.**

Phil turned to glance backwards but Tony was already right there, wrapping arms around him, pulling Phils mess of hair onto his shoulder. **I meant what's bugging you. Which...also sounds realy...I meant what's prompting...what's bugging you _right now._** **Because I mean obviously, you have reasons. Just…maybe if I know your priorities we can work on some of them? Right? Fix things. That's what we came up here for.**

There was this. There was all this love and support and that was _so important._ He let himself cling back, he wasn't going to push away something this precious being freely offered. He’d try to explain. “Just” his breath was so unsteady, it must sound aweful. "Just kind of hate being such a fuckup, that's all."

Dads chest gave a quick contraction- a huff or a laugh, Phil couldn't see his face from here. Dad tried to run a hand over Phils hair, but it got caught in a tangle of 2-day-compounded bedhead. **"Fuckup" is going a little far, don't you think? Seems kind of harsh.**

Phil pushed away, not hard, not rejecting, just enough so that he could try and have the balls to look his dad in the eye. "Comeon. Don't do that. Everybody knows the score. Can we please just...not pretend? I crashed in under a week. Three years older than you started college. You already _had_ a degree by my age. And I can't even _talk_ to a girl, much less..." Aaannd he ran out of guts. He looked away. "I'm happy to be home, Tony. I am. I am _so relived_ you all still want me around. But I don't think I can take everybody pretending I'm not..."

  1. Dad supplied soberly.



Phil gave a long, slow exhale, felt like he was deflating. Team detox. He'd do his best to keep from getting his crap over evereyone elses lives. "I already _know_ I don't...fit anymore. Theres not any real reason to pretend. I know I'm not what I was supposed to be."

Dad finally managed to disentangle his hand from Phils hair, settled it on his neck, instead. **Did you really tell the other kids you want to change your name?**

Phil shrugged. He wished they hadn’t told that part. It made him seem ungreatful and that was the last thing he wanted. “Yeah. But I guess it doesn't matter so much now. That was more of an issue when people would…y’know…see me. When they'd be _comparing_ me."

Dad was staring at him, eyes moving over Phil, looking for something. His eyes were uncomfortably intense, his mouth set in a grim line. He seemed...upset. He started to say something then looked away, running his hand over his face, shifting his feet. He looked guilty? Maybe? Phil watched, curiously. **No. That's not-** He heaved an unomfortable breath. **Shit, Phil.**

"What?" Phil suspected he sounded a little challenging. "You said it, Tony. I'm damaged. I'm not Avenger material. I'm not CEO material. I'm not... really Potts or Stark material." He tried to refocus. To rally. "But I am home, at least, and I swear, I'm not gonna get my crap all over everybodys lives this time. I'll be more careful."

**Ok.** Dad still looked really uncomfortable, focusing hard. **Ok. Comeon. Here. Sit. Talk time.** He shooed Phil over to the couch, and Phil sat, trying to cling to his opptemism. He’d be ok. Never great, but ok. Dad sat in front of him, too intense and serious.

**Phil, you are _my kid_** **. So, yes, you’d still be my kid and I’d still love you if you were a fuckup. Pretty much no matter what you do, that one’s just a gimmy. You just get it, no earning, no preformance required. I don’t… your mom and I really wanted… we never wanted you to feel like you had to preform to be loved. We both grew up with that and… ok, looks like we screwed that up. So I’m sorry about that. You don’t have to do or be anything for us to love you. Y’know what? I’m even going to speak for the rest of the team here. You don’t have to _do_** **anything. You’re in. End of story.**

Phils eyes burned, but dad was staring at him so directly, he was pretty sure he wouldn’t be allowed to look away. When dad wanted you to look him in the eye, he’d make sure you did. And without tone, he would make sure Phil could see his sincerity. Phil nodded, shakily.

**That said, Phil, you aren’t a fuckup. Or a failure or whatever else you’ve been thinking. You made a mistake with really, pretty damn understandable motivations, and then you did your best to correct it. If that was grounds for being a total failure there wouldn’t be any Avengers, I can tell you that much. Comeon now. You should know that. I made weapons for decades. Thor tried to "break the spirits" of an entire sentient _species_** **. You know these stories. The fact you don’t know Natashas should tell you something.**

"But you all ended up heroes! I don’t even want to be a hero, I just… dad, I failed at being an adult in _under a week._ At _eightteen._ I didn’t want to be a hero I just wanted not to be broken."

**_You are not broken._** He looked almost angry now. Phil opened his mouth to object. He couldn’t take this. He couldn’t pretend. If dad was pretending it would just end up rubbing salt in the wound, over and over. **Damaged isn’t broken. I can’t pretend you didn’t take damage in all this. I won’t do that to you. But you aren’t broken. Broken doesn’t work. Broken has to be fixed to be worthwhile. You aren’t broken. Maybe one day you’ll have a moraly sound way fix to this, and maybe you won’t. I don’t know. But _you_** **don’t have to be fixed to be worthwhile.**

**Phil, don’t let anyone make you into just what’s wrong with you. They will try. They will try your whole life to tear you down that way. Don’t let them. And especially don’t do it to yourself.**

**You are not just your deafness. You are Phillip Yinsin Potts Stark, and up to two months ago you knew who that was. If you don’t like who you were, change it, fine. But do not throw yourself out.**

**You took damage.** Dad tapped on the front of his t-shirt, at the reactor. **You’re not the first around here. What’s happened to you is not as important as what you do with it.**

That hurt. "I know that! Dad I _know_ that! But that’s the _worst part._ I didn’t come back home a hero. I didn’t fix myself in a cave. I had a panic attack at a grocery store and came home with my tail between my legs. I always thought I was like you but I’m _not._ I haven’t proven myself, I just crashed and burned."

Dad watched him a moment, thinking fast. **Ok, I’ll tell you what. From getting a hole blown in my chest to my first mission as Ironman was actually 5 months. Three in Afghanistan, two at home playing hermit and, frankly, pissing everybody off. You are only on month two. So lets not go jumping to any conclusions yet, ok? Lets at least see what we can do with the next three months first. With actual backup. And less, you know, reckless self-endangerment? You don’t need to imitate that part, really.**

Weirdly, stupidly, that did help. It shouldn’t.

But it was so concrete. So understandable. Five is bigger than two. The measure he’d been using had a time associated with it- a deadline he hadn’t missed yet. Something measurable that _didn’t_ say he was a failure.

Of course, dad was comparing basic independence for Phil with becoming a hero, and that was wrong. That was stupid.

But…dad had also been in his 40s back then. And had had specific badguys he needed to go after. The one badguy Phil had interacted with in all this…well, he had _helped_ take him down, right? Not a lot but a little.

He nodded, slowly. Dad brightened visibly. **Can I take it that that nod also included an agreement to lay off the self-experimentation?**

That was toxic. That’d hurt everyone. He got that now. Well, he’d understood that then, he just hadn’t let it matter. Now he wouldn’t be able to ignore it. He nodded again.

Dads eyes closed on a look of naked relief. Phil accepted the pang of guilt as his due.

He couldn’t hold it anymore though, and dropped his eyes. He was giving it up. He’d already descided but it still felt so raw. Every mention like an abrasion on burned skin.

Dads hand was there on his face, lifting gently. **Ok, quick pop quiz. What’s your name?** John Johnson: deaf, out-of-work henchman. **Are you seriously hesitating? Over your name? Come on.**

Phils jaw was tight, angry, he wasn’t sure at what. "Phillip Yinsin Potts Stark." Named for heroes and geniuses.

**Damn right it is. Named after the people who built you, and the people _who built me_** **.** **You think I rebuilt myself in that cave? Without Yinsin there would never have been an IronMan. I would have died in there, one way or another. I designed the reactor. I could do that. But without Yinsin, if it had been some other guy hooking me up to a car battery, I would have died there. Would haven given up. And Coulson? Without Agent Phil Coulson there wouldn’t have been any Avengers. And Potts. Your mom. I don’t think I have to tell you how integral she is for my life, besides having saved my ass _repeatedly._**

**We didn’t just name you after heroes. We named you after the people who gave me the best of me. Because that’s what we wanted for you.**

**You think I rebuilt myself. I did some of the work. But I never did it alone. If you want to rebuild yourself, don’t do it alone. You don’t have to. You have great backup. Willing, able backup. Whether you end up deaf or not, you can rebuild yourself. Into who you want to be. Or need to be.**

**Things got rough for you out there, but it’s not over yet. You made it. You still have the time and the resources and the help to change how this goes down. Let yourself have that time. It’s fine.**

Phils mouth was dry, and his throat was tight. It was a lot to consider, and he was sure some of this was oversimplified but… but it helped. Dad understood. And he was offering an alternate deadline, and help. But… "I don’t even know where to start." If he couldn’t fix his hearing…

**Ok, start with what went wrong. We’ll work backwards.**

Right. Of course. Analyze the failed attempt.

So, beyond Phil freaking out, skirting supervillainy, and hurting everyone…

"Well, the glasses kind of sucked. I mean they were fine at the condo but if I went out or if there were too many people around-" The words, spoken in irritation before he could consider how ungreatful he sounded, only made dad smile wryly.

**Interpersonal communication isn’t really my wheelhouse. Sorry. Can we break that down some?**

Oh, Phil was more than ready to list his complaints. "Well, like if there’s more than one conversation going on at a time they all get jumbled together because the damn stupid things can’t differentiate between them so it makes the whole thing basically unintelligible and way too fast to read because I can’t visually tune out interference from other conversations and the glasses don’t know the difference. And even if they did there are words from other conversations that should get my attention like my name and stuff. Like an alert sent to me."

**So, you’d need, like, keyword alerts that can override a system of grouping conversations by relevancy and spacial proximity.**

"Yeah." Phil answered, annoyed.

**So…**

So?

So…Phil could totally program that. At least make a rough to test out.

**What else?**

"Well… I can’t tell how loud anything is. So things like how close someone is or how loud I’m being gets lost."

Dad gave a facial shrug. **Volume and direction sensors.** God, easiest sensors ever. Actually, they already had sound, so it would just be the display. That would really, really help with knowing if someone was sneaking up on him. Actually, while he had sensors and displays in front of his face, he could swipe some of the sensors IronMan used to detect threats and build them in. He might actually end up _safer_ than he had been before he lost his hearing.

This…

All of this, he could do it. Some things would be harder- mood recognition or sarcasm detection…but if he really wanted to…he could figure it out.

There was a moment of stunned speechlessness as dad waited for him to put it together.

"I….am so _stupid!_ "

He’d been so busy with the nanites he’d hardly done anything with the glasses at all. Neglected the resource he had to try and get back the one he’d used to have. Tried to fix himself, totally failed at breaking down the problem.

Dad didn’t quite laugh, but he looked almost like he wanted to. He reached his arms out. **Here, come here.** Phil did, folding forward and dad locked a firm grip around him. **You’re gonna be ok. We’ll work it out.  And Phil seriously, thousands of people are deaf. They live their lives. There’s no way you can’t do the same. And you are smarter than to think we wouldn’t want to be part of your life if you’re deaf. Or…maybe we didn’t convey that. I don’t know. Anyways, the take away message here is that you’re gonna be ok. Whatever hurdles you have to deal with, you can do it. We’ll all help if you need us to.**

Phil hugged back. Maybe he would. Maybe he had the skills to improve things after all.

Dad leaned back. **And hey, since you can’t be expected to wear those all the time, the rest of us can learn sign, right? You just pick which version you want us to learn. Nobody will complain, I promise.**

**JARVIS: Sir, Ms Potts is requesting you visit her downstairs.**

**DAD: What, now?**

**JARVIS: Yes sir. There is no emergency but she would appreciate a relatively prompt response.**

**DAD: I’m having a father-son moment here, J.**

Phil smiled, trying to sniffle quietly. What a dork. Phil shoved at his arm lightly. "Go downstairs dad. I have work to do. I need to start putting some lists together."

Dad smiled, able to see Phil was doing better. Planning. Thinking with a clear head. **All right J, tell her I’ll be down.** So he was trusting Phil up here alone. Belived him when he said he’d learned. Dad levered himself up, still favoring one shoulder, then bent again to land a kiss on Phils forhead. Lot of that going around. He stood, lingered just a second, turned to go, then paused. **But first- Jarvis, see if you can get Rhodey on the line for me.** Rhodey?

There was a pause. **RHODEY:** **Tony? What’s up?**

**DAD: Rhodey, I need a favor. I’ve got Phil here, and he seems to be under the impression I was a successful independent adult at fifteen. Or eighteen.**

**RHODEY: LAUGHTER**

**DAD: All right, all right.**

**RHODEY: LAUGHTER**

Dad rolled his eyes impatiently **DAD: Ok, we get it. I have a thing to do. Care to set the record straight with him in the mean time?**

**RHODEY: Yes Tony, I will be happy to fix whatever lies you have been feeding him.**

Dad seemed to cringe a little. **DAD: please leave me a little of my son’s respect, please?**

**RHODEY: Hey, you called me.**

Dad gave a resigned shrug **DAD: Right. I’ll try to be quick, then.**

Phil just watched the exchange with growing curiosity. Dad nodded with Phil, and with only one, slightly nervouse backward glance, left.

**RHODEY: Ok, get comfortable. This might take a while.**

*** * ***

It hadn’t taken Clint long for the euphoria of having everyone back safe had started to wear off and for the warning of what Bruces return could mean to sink in.

Clint had never been able to work out if Bruce was a deserter or a martyr, but he knew he was glad to see the man safe at home again. He also knew he was mad at Bruce for leaving.

More than any of that, though, he was aware of how Alma was beaming at Bruce, hopping along beside him, chirping cheerfuly about all the things he’d missed. She didn’t look mad. She was purely happy he was home. Bruce, who she’d said would have let her do more to keep the family together, even when he was the one that left.

Clint watched people. He wasn’t the only one with some mixed feelings here. Steve especially seemed to be having trouble reconciling his reactions. Clint was pretty sure not too many people had ever defected under Steve Rogers’s watch.

But Bruce was here, and still one of theirs, and if he’d fucked up, well, Clint had agreed to let Alma stay in an apartment being watched by supervillian wannabes, so there was enough blame to go around. So, Bruce was following Clint down, past the door that would lead him shortly into the shrine of an apartment Tony had kept for him all these years, and into Clints home, to borrow Clints clothes while they washed what he had in storage.

He could see it in Bruces eyes. He knew they needed to have this talk. The tension was starting to turn smothering. So, once Clint had led Alma past the livingroom strewn with the flotsam and jetsum of her life with him, into Clints personal bedroom, he glanced over his shoulder at her as he opened the closet. "Hey, munchkin, no girls in the boys locker room."

"Awwwww!"

Clint shook his head, not turning back to her. She read people pretty well too, and he wasn’t sure if she was too keyed up to notice the tension, or was deliberately ignoring it. "Scoot. And no spying. Now that you’re home you need to break that habit."

"Fiiiiiiiiiine" He heard a smack of a kiss on a cheek, and tried to ignore it.

He couldn’t ignore the tackle of a hug landing against his back. Not quite forgotten then. He listened as she bounced out of the room, and shut the door behind her.

He didn’t have to steady himself. He could feel his mind going clear and his pulse slowing down. Not real calm. A near 50 year trained response to things he expected to have to shoot. He pushed the thought aside, and starting rifling through his clothes. Not like Bruce was a kidnapper.

There was a pause before he heard Bruce’s voice, quiet, hesitant, dry. "So, are we having this conversation now, or later?"

Later would be good. Or never. "I can’t think it would do any good to wait."

"No, I guess not."

Another heavy, oppressive silence. Clint let it linger, listening to Bruce shift his weight, feeling a little vindictive already, even though it was mostly based on what he was expecting. He had no reason to make it any easier for Bruce to say it.

Bruce did break first. "You’ve done a great job with her."

Clint selected a shirt. One of his better shirts. The kind of thing Bruce would actually wear, with buttons. Clint only wore it for events and press junk. "Wouldn’t think you’d think so. I don’t remember you being too keen on the kids learning how to use firearms or other weaponry.

"…well. She was 6."

"And now she’s twelve." Clint understood this. That had been the problem the whole way along. He’d always given Alma what he thought she needed. But it wasn’t what the rest of the world thought a girl her age should have. It took Jamie negotiating with SHEILD to give him even a veneer of legitimacy as a parent. Now maybe Jamie would have to call them back, change the orders.

"Fair point. But she understands how to handle them responsibly.” Another pause, Clint glanced at the mirror in his closet. Bruce was mustering his courage. He braced himself, digging out some jeans. Bruce had gotten leaner since last time. Might need a belt. “I don’t want to say this wrong. I really don’t want to give you the wrong impression.” Here it comes.  “You know I’ve been talking to her a little. And she talks about you all the time.” He picked out a belt, not turning. Waiting. “I’ve missed her, and…” damn it why couldn’t he just spit it out? “I want to be part of her life. Her daily life.” Of course he did. Who wouldn’t want Alma? “But I think you should retain custody.”

Clint froze.

Then he turned to Bruce, bundle of clothes in his hands next thing to forgotten. Bruce was very clearly uncomfortable. “I’m not sure how to tell her that. I hope you don’t see it as my not caring about her. I love Alma. I do. But you’re just…a better parent than me. And you know her in a way that I don’t, anymore.“

“You’re not going to try to-“

Bruce shook his head. “I’m selfish. I’m not that selfish.”

He turned to face Bruce. “Then why have you been looking like you were going to deliver my death sentance every time you saw me today?” He was, maybe, a little ticked off about that.

“I just don’t want you to think I’m…that I don’t love her. That I don’t want her, or don’t want to be around her. And I don’t want her to think that. But if you do, so will she. She idolizes you.” The last said with an uncomfortable, but real smile.

Clint stepped forward, offering out the clothes. “I always figured if you showed up, you’d be horrified.”

“Except Tony kept me in the loop, remember? Besides, if you were really doing poorly, one of the others would have stepped in. But I knew when I left she couldn’t go wrong with anyone here as her new gaurdian.” He accepted the clothes.  “I don’t like that she’s needed to learn those things, but that’s my fault, not yours. And if she needs them, she should have them.”

“Huh”. Was all Clint could think to answer. He stood, akwardly, with Bruce still looking at him.

The next words seem to cost Bruce something. “I wanted to say thank you. Really. For everything you’ve done with her. For wanting to. And for not, you know, punching me in the face when I turned back up again.”

“You’re not real punchable, Bruce.” He answered, since it was the least uncomfortable part of that to respond do. It wouldn’t be right to thank Bruce for leaving, so he could steal Alma for himself. “Besides, you were already knocked out when I got there.”

“Wouldn’t Ross have been embarassed. Beat out by a 12 year old girl.”

Clint did smile at that. “Yep.” He gestured at the clothes. “You know you’re still on the shit list, right?”

Bruce nodded. “I’m willing to put in the work, and accept what I can get out of that.”

“Tch.” Clint frowned at him. “You could at least have the good graces to be an asshole about it. How’m I supposed to stay pissed at you like that?”

Bruce responded with a dismissive “That sounds like a personal problem. I don’t think I can help you with that one.” Clint smirked. Still Bruce.

“Ass”

Bruce shrugged, and started shucking his clothes. “How do you want to talk to her about this?”

“I don’t know. We should probably both be there, though.”

Bruce nodded, and it was settled. Alma was still his kid, Bruce would back him up, and they’d talk to her together.

 

* * *

 

Jamie had learned a number of things in the last 24 hours.

1) He really did not like having guns pointed at him. This wasn’t much of a revelation, but it sure stood out as an important fact from the past 24 hours.

2) Provided it didn’t actually result in him getting shot, he could still _cope_ with having guns pointed at him, and not panic, at least till later.

3) Pop was an actual _cuddler._ So was Tony. Seeing them all curled up together had made him realize that probably some of the times pop had tried to hug him, it’d been for pop’s sake, not for Jamie’s, which made him feel sort of guilty for moving away from them most of the time. They’d felt smothering, condesenging at the time. He hadn’t ever thought pop was the one asking for comfort.

4) He was a lot closer to being a functional adult than he’d thought.

5) That was a pretty low bar, since adults- even some of the world’s best and brightest, were frequently _idiots_ who couldn’t communicate with each other half the time and missed opportunities for _years._ He’d missed out on an additional parent for 15 years because two intelligent adults couldn’t manage a single conversation.

6) Phil and Signe would be alright. They could maintain enough objectivity even in the face of major pressures to do what they needed to, and keep on the right side of some pretty grey areas.

7) He’d learned how to make pop’s scrambled eggs- although it’d take a litttle more practice to get it down right. Relatedly, he was actually up for some further cooking lessons with pop. And he still thought Tony should join them.

8) Alma was better at keeping secrets than he thought.

9) Once the family had identified a problem, they didn’t seem to have a real hard time pulling together to cope with it.

10) But the biggest thing he learned was that he had a new mission. For the time being, his mission was to facillitate communication inside the tower, and between the tower and the outside world (Like with SHEILD, but he hadn’t absorbed that whole mess nearly enough to have reached much in the way of conclusions about that yet. Too weird.) He wanted to remake the culture of this tower- no more pointless, damaging secrets, no more not having important conversations just because they were difficult. No more of him standing on the sidelines watching it happen.

That was what he’d done for too long. He’d seen pop and mom and Tony all wandering around like ghosts, and he hadn’t done anything. Hadn’t said anything, even when it was so obvious they needed to be talking to each other. He couldn’t _make_ them do anything, obviously, but if he’d acted, not been keeping secrets and shying away from the conversations _he_ needed to have, how much faster would this have been over? If he’d really talked to Phil, or Signe, or mom or pop when he’d had the chance? Never again.

He’d known there were secrets. He hadn’t known how much _everyone_ was being hurt by them. Just because a lot of them were out in the open now didn’t mean that people wouldn’t fall back into old patterns given half a chance.

And right now, he knew where the biggest conversation was happening, so he was going to take a small risk and check on Alma. He knocked quietly, and listened at the door, just to hear if he could make out any voices, but he couldn’t.

The door opened quick on Alma, beaming. "Hi! You’re not upstairs with your group?"

Jamie shook his head, peering around. “Not right now. I have some stuff to do. Am I interrupting?"

"No, they’re back in Clints room. With _out_ me." She made a face.

Jamie nodded. That was about what he expected. "You know what they’re talking about, right?

Her smile faltered a little. "Not…for sure. They have lots of catching up to do."

Jamie gave her a symptathetic look. “Right. Want some company?” She nodded, gesturing him in. “Are you nervouse?”

She bit her lip. “No? Maybe. I shouldn’t be, though. Everybody is home now. That’s what counts.”

Jamie flopped onto the couch. “Yeah. It’s nice being home with everybody.” He fiddled, one-handed with the edge of Clint’s couch. All the little familiar things were nice. He looked at her. “I’m sure they won’t make you do anything you don’t want, Alma. Not on something as big as this.”

She dropped down next to him, bouncing on the cushions. “I just want them both, thats all. And…” her voice pitched higher, uncertain.

There was a knock at the door, followed by Signe’s voice. “Jamie?”

Jamie blinked at the door, then to Alma. “Sorry, I asked Jarvis to send her up after sparring- I didn’t think it’d be so fast.”

“Come in, Signe.” Alma called back. Signe opened the door.

“Hi Sig. I hope Clint and Bruce wont be mad about all these people-“ Jamie started.

Signe was a little bit messed up in sweat pants, a tank top, and messy hair. She seemed a little more cheerful after a workout.  

Alma waved at Signe. “That didn’t take very long. Are you that rusty?”

Signe shook her head. “No, but father was called up to speak to the Captain. Jamie, you wanted to see me?”

Jamie straightened a little, but tried not to seem overbearing. “Yeah, I wanted to talk to you about Tony-“

Signe grined with proud smile if slightly sheepish eyes. “I appologized to him this morning before you woke up, if that’s what you were wondering about.”

Jamie and Alma both sat forward at once. Alma talked first. “Really?”

“How did it go?”

Signe noded desicively. “All is well. _And_ Phil has shown interest in learning more self defense.”

Jamie sagged back against the back of Clints couch. “Oh man. Signe, you don’t know how happy I am to hear it.”

“I think I could venture a guess.” Signe assured. She looked at Alma. “Are Clint and Bruce discussing the living arrangments then?” She glanced down the hall.

Alma looked unsettled again. “Maybe.”

At the moment, Clints bedroom door opened to Clint, and a freshly redressed Bruce. They paused at the little crowd in the livingroom. Bruce seemed confused, Clint raised one faintly annoyed but clearly amused eyebrow. “Should I notify the government of a security breech, or …?”

Alma’s smile turned strained. “No. We’re being good.”

Jamie shifted forward on the couch. Alma’s hand found his behind her and clamped down. Ok. Jamie shifted back again.

Clint and Bruce exchanged looks. Clint turned back to Alma as Bruce watched. “We were just going to head upstairs for a minute. You three ok down here?”

Alma nodded. But Jamie gave Clint a _look_ from behind Alma’s shoulder. A _please just do it already_ look.

Clint returned the look, and Jamie could see him relent. He looked back at Bruce again, to communicate it, then walked over to Alma, kneeling down in front of her. Bruce followed with his hands in the pockets of his borrowed pants. “Ok, peanut. Stressing out about this, huh?”

“No.” Alma denied. Jamie nudged her with his elbow. “Maybe.” She admitted appologeticaly. Her toes curled under, gripping the carpet. 

Clint took a deep breath, Bruce folded a little more in on himself, and Signe tensed at the mood in the room. “Ok, munchkin. Here’s the deal-“ he petered off, then looked back at Dr Banner. “Bruce? Little help?

Bruce sat down next to Alma, on the side Jamie wasn’t occupying. She squeezed his hand. She kept her face almost neutraly attentive, but her eyes were a little to wide, a little too glossy. “Ok. Ah. I’m staying. Here. In the tower. But…I think that…” his eyes flicked to the side, then down, then he seemed to force them back up to her. “I think Clint should still have custody of you. For your best interest.” Alma’s hand was tight enough to ache a little now. “Not because I don’t want you. And I’ll be around, every day. I don’t want you to change your life just because I’m here. I’d rather add to what you already have. And I’m…really proud of you. I think having Clint as your custodial parent has helped you be who you are now. I think he’s…set you on a good path.” He stopped searching her face. Jamie couldn’t see it from behind her, but her grip was steady, not increasing or fidgeting. He glanced down, and her toes had started to uncurl.

“Hey.” Clint got her attention, and she turned her head. He could see most of a grave, wide-eyed expression. “You still have us both. I’m just taking point, ok? We both love you. And Bruce will be just down the hall.”

Jamie was suprised when Signe spoke. “You said you are going upstairs?” Clint seemed thrown by the interruption to this really private, important talk, and looked at Signe like he’d forgotten she was there.  “You should go find out why.”

Clint gave her a very mildly dissaproving look, then turned back to Alma. “You understand? We both love you?” Alma nodded, shyly. She didn’t look very much like she’d taken down two armed gunmen and prevented an appearance by the Hulk yesterday. “You ok with this?”

Alma nodded again. She blinked a little too fast. Clint shifted up on his knees. “Oh, hey.” He hugged her. “You sure? You get to have a say if you want.” His face was turned towards Jamie, but not looking at him. Alma and Bruce wouldn’t be able to see from that angle, but there was tightly controled fear and hurt on his face. Hating the thought of loosing her even a little. Had Tony made that face about Jamie?

Alma nodded again, and hugged back. “You’re both staying? Promise?”

He hugged her closer. “Yeah.”

She sniffled, but smiled, big and honest. “That’s what I want. I like how things are. And now Bapa is home, too. I’m happy.” She sat back, and Clints shoulders dropped in relife when he could get a look at her face.

She looked at Bruce, who reached out to pull her into another hug.   “Proud of you.”

Alma sniffled, then giggled and nodded. “Yeah I’m pretty cool.”

Bruce smiled. “You are.”

Clint patted her knee. “Hey, you want me to tell them upstairs to wait a bit? I don’t think it’s anything real urgent.”

She shook her head, still teary, still smiling. “No, Jamie and Signe are here. I’m ok. You’re just going upstairs.”

“If you’re sure-“

She flapped her hands at them. “I’m fine I’m fine! Just come back together for dinner. Early dinner. I want Sammosas.”

“Ok-“

Bruce levered himself up off the couch, and Signe offered Clint a hand up off the floor, which he accepted. Now Jamie noticed Signe looking antsy as she patted Clints back as he stood.

A few more reassurances from Alma for Bruce and Clint, and they were out the door. Signe looked ready to split a seam. When the door shut, she looked at them. “Did either of you hear Ms Potts and Natasha talking this morning?” she asked eagerly.

Jamie was slightly distracted by having put together that Thor, Clint and Bruce had all been called upstairs at the same time. “Hold on Signe.” He pulled up his phone, and texted Phil. **Is Tony there with you?**

The response came back almost immediatly. **No, mom called him downstairs for a sec. I’m talking to Rhodey.**

Huh. “Guys, all the adults are at moms place. All of them.” He texted Phil **Come down to Clint’s place?**

Quick reply again. **Yeah.**

“All of them?” Signe clairified.

“Oooooh. Secrets already.” Alma sniffled dissaprovingly. At least, she was trying to be dissaproving. She was still smiling pretty hard and still teary. Jamie squeezed her hand again, and she squeezed back.

“I’m pretty sure I know why.” Signe started.

Phil walked in the door. “ _Oh my god_ , you guys. It is a miracle my dad is still _alive._ How is he not dead yet? Seriously.”

Signe was immediatly alarmed. “Why? What happened?”

Phil turned to her. “Ok, you think _I_ did bad on my own? Belive it or not I still did better than he did. I mean, I had you guys, so that helped a lot. But dad had Rhodey and he was still like… I don’t even _know._ No wonder Rhodey’s so protective of him. The food poisoning danger _alone-_ ”

Jamie couldn’t help jump on this train. He was ready to discuss the incompetence of the adults. “Do you know what I found out? First off, Rhodey told Signe and me that Tony _wanted_ to be my second dad. But he acted like he didn’t because he didn’t want to step on pops toes. But then today, pop tells me he’s been in love with dad practically since I was _born._ And mom implied Tony was the same.”

Alma was incredulous. “But that’s _forever_! Why did they take so long then?” 

“I have _no idea_. But this basically means they’ve been avoiding co-parenting for my whole life because they couldn’t have a conversation about any of this.  Which just- ugh.”

He looked around, and saw similar expressions of dismay on the others. Phil looked at him, very seriously. “Jamie, I think our dads might be idiots.”

“That’s kind of what I’m thinking, yeah. So just so you all know, I’m planning on keeping an eye on things for a while. I don’t want people keeping tons of secrets again.” He looked at Alma. “Especially you. You’re better than I thought.”

 Alma gave her best innocent expression, and he laughed. Then she looked a little concerned. “Then, should we be worried they’re _already_ having secret grown-up meetings without us?”

It did sting a little. After all their talk this morning. After what they’d proven what they could do on their own. But- “Not yet. I…let’s give them a chance to tell us what’s going on. This actually makes a pretty good test.” And he wanted them to pass. Oh he wanted them to pass. To make good on the way they seemed to see them now. On the changes in relationships they’d been implying.

Signes voice was lightly reproachful. “How do you intend to ferret out when people are keeping secrets if you won’t listen? I am trying to tell you I think I know what they are meeting about. I’m nearly certain.”

Signe finally got the attention she wanted from the group. She looked at Phil. “Did you hear Ms Potts and Natasha speaking this morning? Or…sorry. Did you see it?”

Phils looked skeptical. “You don’t think-“

“I do.”

Phill crossed his arms, stared down at the carpet, thinking hard. Then he looked up, shaking his head. “Then it doesn’t matter. They wouldn’t possibly.”

“Who would object now?”

Phil opened his mouth, then shut it again. “I was going to say Natasha, but… and probabaly mom. Not Bruce…or dad, now…”

Jamie cleared his throat. “Signe, you didn’t actually tell us anything.”

Signe turned to him and Alma. “Of course. Sorry. Ms Potts and Natasha were speaking just this morning of rennovating the tower to one large home. Presumably with shared spaces and indevidual bedrooms. But essentially, all of us living together.”

Jamies mouth dropped open. “ _What?”_

Alma actually stood. “What?” He could see a glint in her eye. She’d immediatly convinced herself this was a real possibility, which meant it would be very hard to convince her it wasn’t. Alma had sighed over this before- not recently, she’d learned better than to ask about it. But he’d never heard her say she didn’t still want it.

And now, out of the blue. “Are you sure that’s what they were talking about?”

Phil nodded, tapping one foot. “It was pretty clear. I just haven’t really had time to think about it. And you know nobody ever brings up major conversations during recoup breakfasts. I wouldn’t have expected them to meet about it this fast, anyways. Damn.”

Jamie leaned back, his mind whirling.

Well, that would make sure Alma and Phil would have enough access to Bruce. And facillitate communication, except….except Phil was having trouble keeping up this morning with everyone together. “Phil? Would you be ok with that?”

“Huh?” Phil looked up from his ruminations. “Oh. Uh. Yeah I can work it out before they could get this place renovated, anyways. I’m going to upgrade my software.” He tapped his glasses. There was something calm about how he said it. An off-the-cuff assumption of success.  And he didn’t make any attempt to deny he’d been struggeling. Jamie just watched Phil, a little awestruck at the change. Phil caught him and pulled a face, but didn’t say anything.

He looked at Signe. She seemed over her fight with Tony. “What about you?”

She nodded. “I think father gets lonely. And I enjoyed living with you all. Provided I no longer have to share a bathroom with Phil.”

“Amen to that.” Alma agreed cheerfully. “Ohmygosh! What if this actually happened and we all actually lived like one big family instead of a bunch of little families? And Tony and Steve can stop pretending they aren’t your dads! Wouldn’t that be great! Jamie! Say you think it’s a good idea, too!” She ended with a plea.

Jamie nodded, slowly. “I…yeah. I think it’d be nice.”

Alma shot two fists straight above her head. “Unanimous!”

“Not just up to us, Al.” Phil pointed out.

Signe was gazing up at the ceiling. “I wish I could hear what they’re saying. When do you think they’ll call us in?”

Jamie didn’t know. But he could imagine why they would have wanted to talk between each other, first. That way, whoever objected- if anyone did- wouldn’t have to be known to Alma as the person who sank this. He wouldn’t blame any of them for not wanting this. It was strange and new when there was already a lot of strange and new going around. But, he looked at Alma, how could you ever tell her that. Besides, pop and Tony might talk about like…bed stuff. Ew.

Alma brightned. “Should we try?”

Jamie put up a hand. “No. We’re going to let them call us in when they’ve had a chance to talk. I don’t think they’ll make a final desicion without us.”

Alma stuck her tounge out at him, but sat down, beaming dreamily. 

Phil helped himself to a chair. “Lets kill some time then. Poker?”

Signe grinned, and glanced at Jamie, just to see if he’d caught it to. He smiled back. “I’ll grab the cards.”

 

* * *

 

Tony felt good. Really good, actually, beside his shoulder protesting his having refused to baby it all morning. But he had everything he needed and there were imrpvoments likely on just about every horizon he could see. He had Steve tucked up beside him on Pepper’s couch, radiating heat and steadiness, with one arm draped comfortably behind Tony’s head. Tony looked at the assembled family in front of him, and reiterated for about the hundredth time “I can’t belive we’re considering this.”

 

Bruce was sitting just across from him, on the ottoman where Alma had been sleeping just hours before, looking tense but, for once, not unhappy. Pepper was on Tony’s right, legs crossed, arms crossed, leaning back. Natasha was next to her, lounging with consipicuous comfort but a cynical expression. Clint was next to her, angled towards the rest of the group, thoughtful but clearly into it. Thor was to Steve’s left, glowing in an understanted, faintly regal way.

 

“ _You_ can’t belive.” Natasha grumbled back.

 

Tony shook his head at her. “I especially can’t belive this was your idea.”

 

“It wasn’t. It was Almas.” Natasha objected mildly.

 

“Uh-huh.”

 

“One family home for one family. There’s nothing unbelievable about that.” Thor nodded to himself. Well, the guy lived with his parents till he was well past two thousand years old.

 

“Yeah. Sure. Fine idea.” Tony agreed sincerely. “Just…” This was the first time he’d actually be living full time with his kid since Phil was 2. And in the bargain he’d get to live with Jamie, Alma, Signe… all at once. “Do you think the kids will go for it?” Maybe they wouldn’t want to have so many adults hovering around. Just because Jamie was ok with Steve and Tony dating didn’t mean he wanted to _live with_ Tony as if-

 

No. Tony had to remind himself that even if they were living together, there would still be boundaries. Still lines to respect.

 

Steve scooched a little closer. “Won’t know till we ask them.” At close range, Tony could tell Steve wasn’t convinced. He endorsed the plan, but wasn’t so sure the kids would go for it, same as Tony. They were all basically teenagers. Wasn’t this every teen’s nightmare?

 

But Steve. Tony could potentialy live with Steve. He’d have his own room in reserve- he was used to having a lot of his own space- but he’d be living with Steve.

 

Pepper, the co-author of this surprising bill, piped up. “I’m sure they’ve noticed we’re all together by now. We can call them up if we’ve got a consensus amongst ourselves.” He could live with Pepper and not even have it be weird. He’d never even had a chance to tell her how much he missed that. She’d had a suite on his property since her first year as a PA. Having her around to run into throughout his day was the first experience he could remember of living _with_ someone in earnest. The closest approximate understanding of family he’d had for years. But he’d never been able to really tell her that, because it would have looked like guilting her over the divorce.

 

Clint straightened, and addressed the ceiling. “Hey, kids, if you’re listening in, come on up.”

 

Steve frowned, shifting. “Think they are?”

 

“Curious to find out.” Clint answered. Tony would spend so much more time playing videogames with Clint and Thor around. And Natasha. She didn’t tend to play, but she liked to heckle and sometimes she cracked up Clint hard enough to make him screw up.

 

_He’d_ been thinking about this, about being alone less. Maybe he shouldn’t be shocked he wasn’t the only one, but he was.  Probabaly some kind of trust issues crap on his part.

 

There was a silence, they glanced at the door with varying levels of suspiciousness and nervousnes. Nothing. “Jarvis, any sign of the kids evesdropping?” Tony asked.

 

“No sir, they seem to be playing cheats poker.” Jarvis answered approvingly.

 

Steve straightened a little, smiling. Bruce raised an eyebrow. “I take it we’re counting that as a win?” Poor Bruce. Tony had tried to keep him up to date. But there just wasn’t time to convey everything in 1 call per quarter and he couldn’t help editing a _bit_.

 

Tony still couldn’t belive Bruce so willingly and quickly went from gone to here to staying to communal living. He must need some serious taking care of.

 

Steve relaxed against the couch, pleased. “I am.”

 

Pepper had a similar smile. “Jarvis, please go ahead and ask them to come up.”

 

“Yes, Ms Potts.”

 

Tony shifted forward, feeling the need to move around a little. “I’m gonna get some ice.”

 

Once again, Steve stood, helping him up. Tony smirked at him. “How long are you gonna keep doing that?”

 

“Probabaly till you tell me to quit it. Maybe a little after. Shoulder bothering you?” Steve followed along as Tony headed over to the kitchen, the others chatting quietly on the couch behind him.

 

“Mm. Hugging related injuries.”

 

Steve smirked. “Sounds like a euphemism.”

 

 “If it was a euphemism, you would have been involved.” Tony opened the freezer door.

 

Steve gave a breif and deceptively boyscoutish grin before his expression dipped back to neutral. “Hey, so, I was talking to Jamie this morning about- well, about us.” Tony paused his quest to look around the door at Steve.  

 

“Problem?” He’d seemed fine with Tony this morning.

 

“No, nothing like that.” Tony went back to his search for an ice pack. “He just reacted a little strangely when I mentioned some things.”

 

“What things?” Icepack aquired.

 

“Like how if we could have worked this out back when I first fell for you…things might have been different for him, to.”

 

“For Jamie?”

 

There was an uncomfortable pause. Tony laid the icepack on his shoulder, closing the door. Steve looked wary, a little confused. “Wouldn’t it?”

 

Tonys eyebrows drew together, and he tilted his head. Before he could work out for sure what Steve meant, the main door opened.

 

Signe waved a cheerful greeting, Jamie a smaller hello. Phil was busy bickering with Alma about who would or would not have won their game. She was arguing that expecting parental interruption was a viable tactic, he was arguing that it wasn’t one of the allowed cheats.

 

Phil looked like himself, finally. Not quite happy, but himself.

 

Pepper turned in her seat, waving them over. “Hi kids.”

 

The kids meandered over to the couch. Signe nudged Phil to get a move on a couple of times when he got stuck where he was bickering. Finally, Alma stuck her tounge out at him and hopped over the back of the couch, settling in between Pepper and Natasha with grins for the rest of the assemblage.

 

Phil drifted for a moment, dawdling, as Tony and Steve went to rejoin the group. Phil noticed them, and pointed to Tony. “You! _Oh my god_ , dad.” Tony raised his eyebrows. Phil jabbed a finger at him again. His tone was serious. “I’m going up to check your fridge after this. You- why did anyone let you live alone? How are you even still alive?” Well, Rhodey’d done his job, at least.

 

Tony ruffled Phil’s mess of hair, almost knocking off his ice pack. He’d have to bandage that in place a little later. “it’s fine. I’ve been immune to salmonella for years.” Phil’s eyes widened, and his mouth set, clearly trying to decide whether or not to belive him. He’d really have to call Rhodey later and find out exactly what he’d told him.  Clearly some of his college kitchen habits had been discussed.

 

Tony smiled and looped his good arm around Phils shoulders, pulling him along towards the group. Phil muttered something about locking the liqure cabinet.

 

Steve trailed behind, looking over the little crowd. Alma was beaming, on the edge of her seat. Signe was alert and attentive. Jamie showed a more even-keel curiosity as perched on the back of the couch, where Steve and Tony had been sitting, and Phil showed some outright nervousness. Steve spoke first. “I assume you four already know what we were meeting about?”

 

Jamie was about to answer but Alma cut him off with a cheerful “Rennovation!” Jamie smirked and rolled his eyes.

 

Signe turned to Steve. “Were we right?”

 

Steve nodded. “Yeah, you were.”

 

Jamie got his chance. “So…did you all reach a consensus?”

 

Phil added “I assume you planned to give us a vote before making any final desicions.” Phil dropped down next to Pepper on the couch, and put his feet up next to Bruce.

 

She immediatly tried to move his hair out of his face, smiling. “Yes, we planned to consult you four.”

 

Natasha was eyeing Phil in particular. “Unanimous in your group, or is there a divide?”

 

“Yes we all say yes!” Alma lept in.

 

“As long as Signe and Phil were right about what they thought was going on.” Jamie added. Tony leaned a hip against the back of the couch.

 

“One family home.” Thor stated approvingly. Alma squeaked and leaned on Natasha, who looked like a cat trying to pretend it didn’t care one bit if you kept petting it or not.

 

Alma looked at Clint. “Oh, but we want our own bathrooms.”

 

Pepper nodded. “I’m sure that can be arranged. Obviously, just planning this would take quite a while.”

 

Phil looked a bit unhappy, but stubborn. “And I need Jarvis enabled everywhere.”

 

Clint, who was less a fan of J than most answered “I can cope with that.” Tony couldn’t help a little triumphant smile. The number of people who distrusted J had always ticked him off. When Natasha nodded along, he grinned. Converts. He liked converts.  

 

Phil leaned his head back, looking at Tony upsdide-down with a dissaproving expression. “Least it’d be easier to keep an eye on you.” Oh Phil was going to be _protective_ now? Of _Tony?_ That was both hillariously uneccisary and completely adorable.

 

But Tony wasn’t about to dismiss Phil wanting to interact more with him. “Right back atcha.” Phils smile was small, and cynical, but Tony would take it.

 

Jamie crossed his arms, his face suddenly coloring pink, and adressed Pepper. “Also pop and dad need to keep things out of the fricken _hallways._ ”

 

Tony was about to open his mouth to object, and also to swear to do so because while kitchen sex was fun and all at full population there was no _way-_ and then he proccessed the more important part of that sentance.

 

Pop and dad.

 

Pop equalled Steve.

 

Pop AND Dad- Steve _and_ a male parent who was _not_ Steve. AKA Tony. _Tony as Jamie’s dad._ As an additional parent. His heart started pounding.

 

He noticed he was staring, shocked, at Jamie, for probabaly a little too long. Jamie’s eyes flicked to check his reaction for the breifest second, and the kid turned from pink to red. Tony opened his mouth, then shut it, remembering there were other things he needed to know before he said anything. He glanced to Steve. Steve was watching him much more openly than Jamie was, brimming with quiet hope.

 

He _wanted_ Tony to parent Jamie? What? Since when? No, really- since when? How long had he been staying out of the way, pulling back from what he wanted- for Steves sake- when Steve _didn’t even want him to?_ When Jamie _didn’t want him to?_

 

How could Jamie still want him as a parent now? Why on Earth would he?

 

But the outright nervousness Jamie was starting to show made it pretty obvious he was anxious about Tony’s response. Speed up then. He looked at Phil, who was just looking at him like he was an idiot, as if this should be obvious, or easy, and not the sort of ground-shaking revalation it actually was. Pepper though- she looked teary eyed, and had a couple delicate fingers just lightly over her lips. Touched and just as susprised as Tony by what Jamie had said.

 

Tony’s eyes might also have been just a little misty. Probabaly though, he looked closer to terrified. He was just…shocked. He looked back at Jamie, whose expression had started to shut down in the face of Tonys non-response. Retreated.

 

No. No no no no.

 

Tony’s voice was obviously broken when he got it working. “Come here you little shit-“ Jamie looked over, and Tony grabbed him in a tight, shoulder-grating hug. The icepack fell on the floor. Jamie hesitated a second, then hugged back, his face against Tony’s shoulder, hidden from anyone seeing his expression, but holding on tight enough to get the idea across. Tony tried to blink away tears. “Oh my God.” Tony held on a little tighter.

 

Jamie. His. Vollunteering to be his, and with Steve and Peppers blessing. He didn’t deserve this, he absolutle didn’t. And he also absolutly _didn’t care_ because he would take it anyways. He had to sniffle a little to avoid getting snot on Jamies hair. “Oh my God. I’ve got a bad heart, don’t you know that? You can’t just- Jesus Christ.”

 

Jamie’s voice was muffled by Tony’s shirt. “Drama queen. You’re fine.”

 

Tony shut his eyes and yeah, those were a couple tears. Who cared. He was fine. He was more than fine.  One or two breathy sobbs got away from him to and that was also fine. Let his younger son know how much Tony was honored by this. How much it meant to him. He pitched his voice for Jamie. “Love you.”

 

Jamie sniffled, and nodded against Tony’s shoulder. His voice was rough around the edges. “You too.” He pulled away just enough to look at Tony, just as they heard a camera click. Tony glanced over at Signe smiling down at his phone screen, muttering something to Thor and showing him the screen. Jamie ducked his head for a second, shook his head, then looked back at Tony. His eyes were wet. God, he really wanted this.

 

Tony wrapped one arm around Jamie’s shoulders, blinking back tears and turning towards Steve with a shaky grin. “How’d I get such a prudish son?”

 

Steve had a hand over his mouth, tears on his face. He was happy.

 

Phil cleared his throat, getting their attention. He was also looking a bit red faced, and his eyes slid to the side as soon as they looked at them. His voice was muttered, barely audible. “Yeah me too. Like… what Jamie said.”

 

Tonys gaze dove for Steve- wanting to see the reaction. It was everything he could have wanted. And Steve wanted this as bad as Tony did. Oh god. That set Tony off again, and his breath caught in his chest.  Steve actually took a step back, closing his eyes and bowing his head a little. Natasha torqued around, and put a hand on his arm, she was smiling, visibly moved. Steve nodded, almost apppologetically. “I’m fine. I’m fine.” He took a deep, slow inhale, and opened his eyes again. He moved back towards Phil, and reached over the back of the couch, wrapping one arm around Phil for the closest to a hug they could manage, kissed the top of his head. Tony watched, rivited to the sight of Steve being so moved by his love for Phil.

 

He hugged Jamie with one arm again and a watery laugh escaped him. He looked back at Jamie, who was wiping his nose and blinking fast. His son. His second son.  He looked at Pepper, and she met his eyes, beaming. He pointed at Jamie, and she nodded back, understanding.

 

Steve straightened, but left a hand on Phils shoulder, not wanting to break contact. He turned, looking at Tony like every one of his dreams had just come true. He leaned over to kiss Tony.

 

Tony felt almost dizzy, and the sound he made was perilously close to a giggle. He sniffled a little, and turned back to the group, all watching approvingly. All wanting to live with him. All his family. He tried to make his voice behave, one arm on Jamie, one on Steve, Phil within a foot of him. “Ok. So. Let’s talk blueprints.”

 


	24. Epilogue

It was always worse to see your kids attempt something than it was to do it yourself. That was one of the great truths of the universe.

 

Steve's couch was full, with Natasha perched on an arm already and Thor on the floor in front of it in deference to the worse knees in the group. Steve, Pepper, Bruce and Clint were piled on the couch, but while there was technically space between them, there wasn’t enough for a full adult. He'd left for like one minute to get an additional waffle, those ingrates. Tony stepped over Thor’s leg and did the only logical thing, seating himself comfortably on Steve's lap. By this point, nobody even pretended to be surprised when he utilized Steve as furniture. 

 

Steve himself was busy chewing his lip and staring at the blank screen to pay much attention, but he reached an arm up around Tony’s waist automatically, half ensuring Tony was seated stably, and half clinging like a kid with a teddybear. Clint was next to them. He and Steve had been sort of orbiting each other all week- drawn together by their shared neuroticism. Tony was nervous, but not like Steve, who’d had horrible stage fright back in the olden days, or like Clint, who’d been more or less hiding Alma’s existence from the world for years. Clint had gone statue-still, the way he did when he was considering shooting someone or truly losing his shit. Next to Clint, Bruce was faring a little better, but was still visibly agitated and in danger of using his shirt to polish clear through his glasses lens. Then came Pepper, who was fidgeting with her jewelry but was almost as excited as nervous. He couldn't read Natasha, but she'd been more assured over the past week leading up to this than most of the rest of them. Thor, bless his heart, was the only other one still eating, demolishing an enviable stack of syrup-soaked breakfast food with evident enjoyment. 2000 years of public appearances had him even more blasé about these sorts of things than Tony was.

 

Tony took a bite of his own breakfast, leaning back against Steve. He cut another bite off with his fork as Natasha and Pepper conversed in unnecessarily hushed tones about PR. He offered the fork over his shoulder, which got Steve's attention, anyways. Steve took the bite, and seemed to feel a tiny bit better. He just liked it when he knew Tony was paying attention. Tony considered offering a bite to Barton, just for good measure.

 

Then Jarvis wordlessly flipped the screen on. They were about to get started. A familiar heavyset Asian woman with steel grey hair and up-to-the-second fashion bustled around the kids, giving last-minute advice, reminding them to sit up straight, and reassuring them. Sylvia’d been the best PR manager Stark Industries had ever had, then the best PR manager the Avengers had ever had. She’d been retired for nearing 10 years now, but had agreed to come back for the _big debut_. By the way she could still hustle in those shoes, retirement hadn’t slowed her down any.

 

The perky 20-something girl who’d be conducting the interview appeared on the screen, smiling a deliberately charming smile and assuring the kids that this would be fun. This was just a fluff piece, so there was a reasonable chance it might be. And Sylvia had hand selected the program with input from the family. So everything should be fine.

 

And if it wasn't, at least this wasn't streaming. They could catch anything in edits that they needed to. If there was a real problem, they would find that the offending footage had somehow never even recorded. 

 

The kids and cameras were just upstairs, arranged on Pepper’s couch, a nice familiar setting with friendly, welcoming overtones. You couldn’t tell from this angle that the rest of the room was all on boxes in preparation for their move into temporary digs during the big renovation. Closest to the interviewer, Alma sat in a sunny, pale yellow dress and white sandals, looking keyed up but adorable. Next to her was Signe, who had decided on the men’s-style suit after all, although what figure he was wearing under that wasn't clear at the moment. Signe looked nervous, but was sitting up straight and proud. Jamie was next, in a blue button up and tie but no jacket, looking alert and prepared. Then was Phil, in a dressed down suit, his hair almost grown-out enough to look deliberate and carefully combed back into a curling ponytail at the base of his head. His foot was bouncing, and Sylvia tapped it to tell him to quit it.

 

Phil had contact lenses now. They were going into mass market production next week and would be available for sale soon after. He owned two of the eight patents involved in their constructions. They gave him the same information as the new glasses did, but projected so small that only someone (much younger than Tony) with excellent close-range vision would have even a hope of spotting anything on them. They were sleek, discreet, and safe. 

 

And Phil had decided that morning not to wear them. He’d taken off his glasses, picked up the contact case, then set the contacts down again, turning the glasses Tony had made over in his hands. “Nah. I’ll wear these. I don’t want to look like I’m hiding it. I’m going to talk about it, and I don’t want to come across as ashamed.” He’d wrinkled his nose. “Besides, I don’t like stuff poking me in the eye. It’s gross.”. Tony had almost dropped his coffee.Lucky he hadn’t or he might have missed the quick glance Phil had scanned the room with, checking for reactions but maybe- with an expectation of support? He’d happily accepted Tony’s hand on his shoulder and had time to shyly return Pepper’s smile before slipping on his glasses to read Clint’s supportive tirade about the unnaturalness of contact lenses and putting objects directly onto one’s eyeball. 

 

Back in the current moment, the peppy interviewer started talking, introduced the kids to her future audience, and they got started. 

 

Steve pulled Tony close. Clint leaned back, exhaling slowly, and daring a glance at Bruce. Pepper held Natasha’s hand. Thor sat forward, eagerly.

 

This was the very first time the kids were speaking publicly, ever. Representing themselves to the world at large about themselves and what had happened, a bare 5 months after the attack on the tower.

 

Things started off a little stilted, a little nervous. Of course it did. But the interviewer was engaging and good at her job and had them acting more like themselves before too long.

 

There were the predictable questions. Did they want to be superheroes? (three nos and a yes) Who was each of their favorite superheroes? (a chorus of laughter and four objections that that wasn't a fair question). Then the interviewer got confused and asked them to explain the parenting arrangements in the tower, because she wasn’t clear on the difference between “pop” and “dad” and didn’t know what a “Bapa” was.

 

There was a beat of silence as the kids looked at each other, Phil in particular sort of froze and Jamie was blushing a little as they realized they’d both been referring to both Steve and Tony as their fathers. Then Phil got a slow, evil grin and flashed some speedy sign _Should I tell?_ Alma giggled so hard she almost fell off the couch. Signe covered his mouth, but there was a very untrustworthy gleam in his eyes. Even Jamie bit his lip on a smile, and didn’t answer right away.

 

Steve sat forward, his mouth hanging open. “Don’t you dare!” he ordered at the unresponsive screen. Clint snorted a laugh not much more dignified than Alma’s. 

 

“I have that story promised to Architectural Digest!” Tony objected.

 

Pepper’s tone was arch and amused. “You did not. They’re doing a story on the renovation. I know for a fact you haven’t warned them at all about you and Steve being listed with a single bedroom.”

 

Bruce was grinning. “Serve you right if Phil turns out to have the same habit of unexpectedly dropping major news stories without warning.”

 

Finally, Jamie gave a tiny head shake no, still barely containing a smirk. Phil shrugged, and sat back comfortably against the cushions. “‘Pop’ is Steve, ‘Dad’ is Tony, ‘Mom’ is Pepper Potts, ‘Father’ is what Signe calls Thor, and Alma’s the only one who calls Bruce ‘Bapa’.”

 

 

Well, that was still going to get the rumor mill turning, but no worse than it had been at several apparently random intervals in the past 20 years. Besides,it was more likely to result in rumors of either Tony or Steve hooking up with Thor or Bruce. Most major news outlets had learned to leave Pepper alone by now. Tony estimated that the media would focus on Thor and Steve, since Tony and Bruce weren’t really orgy rumor material anymore. Tony looked forward to the photo manipulations that would ensue. He always did.

 

 

The kids diverted smoothly into adorable, touching stories of Alma’s arrival at age 4, and then Alma made the interviewer tear up talking about what she remembered of Somalia and her birth parents and the war there before easing efficiently into funny, easier stories of childhood shenanigans in the tower. Tony caught Natasha leaning in and nodding along with a sharpness that suggested to Tony that some coaching had occurred. 

 

 

Shenanigans segued into Signe showing off his shape-changing, to the interviewers delight, and then doing a remarkably spot-on imitation of Thor, which cracked Natasha up. Signe was just nervous enough to talk even more like Thor than usual, and was, just like Thor, just on the cute side of cornball. He spoke intensely and earnestly about wanting to be a hero, and of having a long way to go. Anyone who’d ever seen an interview with Thor would recognize the same determined passion in his voice. “I know my father misses his own home, and someday I hope to be worthy to take his place guarding _my_ home- and Earth is my home more than Asgard ever could be. I don’t want a throne. I just want to protect the realm that took me in.” 

 

Tony nudged Thor with his foot, so the big guy would turn enough for Tony to see his expression, serenely proud and touched. Tony nodded at the screen in silent acknowledgment, a little _good job on that one_ and Thor smiled back and patted Tony’s calf in answer.

 

That turned into Jamie speaking eloquently about the similarities between having a superhero parent and a parent in the police, military, or fire brigade. “I don’t think it’s that unique to us. Or to kids of superheroes. There are a lot of kids who just worry about their parents being ok. Staying safe. I don’t know how many people watching this know that Tony’s stepped out of active combat? I know he’s gotten some flack about that on the news. And that just- I really kind of hate that. We want the world to be safe, too. We live here just like everybody else. Most of the time we’re at _more_ risk of super villains than other kids. But we also worry about our parents being safe. And believe me, nobody on the Avengers would ever step away from a fight if they didn’t have to. People should know that by now. I mean, just…geez.” 

 

And that turned quickly into a cue to bring up the elephant in the room. Phil’s strain was visible on his face, but he kept his chin and eyes up. His smile was wry but real.He barely reigned himself in from giving a detailed neurophysiological explanation of what had happened to him, making a joke of his interest in the science side of things. He did show off the glasses a little bit. But he knew they wanted the _human_  story. "I'm...there's still stuff I miss. Music. People's voices. Stuff like that. But it's ok. I'm taking an extra semester or maybe a year to get better at sign but then I'm still gonna go to college. It's not gonna change that much. And they're – the family- are all learning sign, so that's fine. I don't have to wear the glasses every minute."

 

Then the interviewer threw him a curveball. She asked him if there was anything he wanted to say to other viewers with hearing loss who might be watching. 

 

Phil was visibly taken aback, caught flat footed and silent for a moment at the realization that he’d been thrust into the spotlight as a potential role model and spokesman. “Uhm.” But Tony could see his brain rebooting. “Well. No, not really. I mean, I’m newer to this than most of them, so that would be stupid, you know?” His shoulders dropped a hair more tension, gears clicking over in his mind as he found stable footing again. “But I guess I can say some things about being deaf to other people. It’s- ok, so I know a lot of languages, right? That was one of the features of my glasses that didn’t go into the general market- they had to recognize and signal all the languages I know. Except sign, obviously. I’m learning ASL- there are actually a lot of different kinds. Uhm. Anyways. It’s actually a really beautiful language. It’s- it’s expressive. And it has an elegance to it. A kind of economy that I’m actually getting to really like. I don’t- I didn’t grow up with this, so there’s stuff I’ll always miss. It sucks not being able to hear your family’s voices when that’s what you’re used to. But I like the language. And I’m looking forward to getting to know the communities that come with it. And,”with the reboot completed, the evil glint was back in his eye, “you would not _believe_ the amount of snoring that goes on in this tower. Once the renovation is over I might be the only person in the building that gets any sleep!”

 

This immediately erupted into twin arguments about who the worst offender was- one on the screen, and one in Steve’s living room. But seriously, he and Clint had both had their noses broken a _lot_ , what did people expect? What was Thor’s excuse, anyways? He sounded like a monster truck was revving up his nose.

 

The argument on Steve’s couch was broken up as the argument on the screen devolved into an expose on the dorkiest habits of the adults. 

 

Tony had always known it would come to this. After 4 short lifetimes of the kids knowing the outside world regarded their parents as cool, the floodgates were open, and the little traitors were dying to set the record straight about just how tragically uncool the Avengers and Pepper actually were.Natasha's little dances while she was washing dishes or cleaning _(none of your children can dance. I want you all to know that. I do not look like that)_. Clint’s fried spam habit ( _That is disgusting, Barton, you better not try to put that in the shared kitchen_ ). Steve's affinity for paper books ( _if that's the worst they've got I'm doing pretty good)._ Tony's tendency to knock shit over while signing ( _And I really liked that piece, too, Tony)_. Bruce's affinity for bubble baths _(Great, now we're going to be inundated with bath salts every time someone wants some physics done)._ Thor’s grover pajamas _(Signe used to love Grover! That’s her real favorite superhero.) .A_ nd, finally,Pepper’s inability to refrain from arguing with gameshows, which was met by both the kids and the parents with a chorus of imitations. 

 

By the end of the allotted hour, the kids were every bit the media darlings Sylvia had promised they would be. And they knew it, smiling as the interviewer asked them for final comments. Signe jumped in first, grinning “Yes, I’d like to let the ladies of the world know that my eldest brother here is _single_ , and encourage brunettes in particular who have working knowledge of ASL and a burning desire to discus micro-fabrication issues to come and take him off our hands for a little while. I don’t know how many more lectures on conduction ratios I can handle.”

 

Phil blushed 16 shades of burgundy but grinned with swagger Tony remembered from decades earlier and winked at the camera before adding that Signe’s suitors had to be brave, at least 6ft3, and…well…mostly brave. 

 

Then the interviewer asked Jamie if he had anything to add, and Jamie resolutely stated that he did not. 

 

Alma did object, complaining that she hadn’t been included.

 

Phil smirked. “That’s because we all know Clint told you no dating till you’re 35.”

 

Alma raised her eyebrows, unruffled, and corrected him. “No, he said no _boys_ till I’m 35.”

 

The video closed with the 4 of them cracking up together and the interviewer fighting back giggles on the screen while Bruce and Clint sat with their mouths hanging open on the couch. 

 

By the time they got upstairs the camerawoman was putting away her gear, Alma and Signe were hitting each other with couch cushions, Phil was flirting with the interviewer, who was, in fact, brunette,and Jamie was looking exhausted and relived and was talking to Sylvia, leaning reflexively to avoid being hit by a cushion. 

 

They all split from their activities with varying levels of suddenness at the elevators appearance, sparking an exponential growth in the number of conversations occurring. Reactions and chastisements and congratulations and reassurances. 

 

He saw Phil disengage from the flirting, step over, wince, and step back again, looking down at the bracelet he now used for an interface, and switching settings. Tony didn’t wait for him to finish, sliding over and interrupting him with a firm hug that probably conveyed his pride better than his words would have anyways. Phil leaned into the touch comfortably, the way he usually did now, returning the gesture without the desperate edge from when he’d first come home. Tony could feel a tiny reaction in Phil’s shoulders as the simple contact relaxed him. It was a thrill for Tony every single time.

 

Phil smiled a quick thank you, then finished the setting change on the glasses, flipping into prioritized circles instead of single feed with a few economical clicks. 

 

Pepper came to give her own dose of praise to her eldest and Tony prepared to go back Alma up in needling Clint and Bruce or possibly for a better view of Natasha swearing to Jamie she was going to make them all learn at least a few dance moves to prevent future tragedies like the one she’d witnessed. But Sylvia was stepping towards him with an easy, purposeful gait he’d been trained to attend to a long time ago. “Sylvia. Darling. Perfect work, as always.”

 

“Tony.” She acknowledged with an almost indulgent smile. “Of course. That is what you pay me for. But don’t think I’m not still angry at you for not involving me in your coming out announcement. I had to learn from Thor.”

 

Tony blinked, wondering how Thor would have worded that to their former publicist, who Thor had always adored. He glanced across the room, and Thor had noticed their conversation in the midst of his own. Thor pitched his voice to carry. “You can cover their wedding, Sylvia!”

 

Sylvia looked pleased for about half a second, then incredulous, then turned a look on him that meant _you are so in trouble._ Tony put his hands up defensively. “We are not engaged. I swear, you would know if we were engaged.”

 

Pepper slid in next to him with a charming smile. “They aren’t engaged.” She confirmed. “Yet. But if you want to come out of retirement twice in one year once they get around to it, I’m going to insist on putting you back on a retainer.”  

 

Tony raised an eyebrow. The lines of communication in this tower were baffling. “‘ _In one year_?’ Ms Potts, do you know something I don’t?” He leaned, glancing around her at Steve, who was very carefully not looking at Tony while chatting with Phil. Tony _had_ heard from Signe who had heard from Jamie that Steve was hoping to actually arrange a proposal, so Tony had deleted his own tentative early plans to make one. He hadn’t had any idea of the timeline, though-

 

Pepper smiled. “I don’t know anything you can’t figure out on your own, Tony.” She put her attention back on Sylvia. “I mean it. Just say the word, and I will have you back on payroll.”

 

Sylvia chuckled. “Thank you, Virginia, but you kids can go ahead an enjoy your 3 ring circus without me. I’m just going to enjoy sitting here on the sidelines cackling while my heir scrambles. If she couldn’t spin “heartwarming big happy superhero family” out of an actual heartwarming big happy superhero family then you wouldn’t have hired her. To be honest I only agreed to come back for this because I wanted to check on everyone.” She looked around the room. “But it looks like you’ve all got things worked out amongst yourselves.”

 

Tony looked across the room at the smiling and bickering faces of his family. “You know what? I actually think we have.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's all she wrote.
> 
> Thanks for everyone who's been on this wild ride with me, and for my enablers, betas and copy-editors. This story would not be this story, or at least would not be intelligible without them. 
> 
> As always, I'm over on Tumblr as constant-instigator, and as of this posting I have an open askbox. If there's anything more you want of these dorks, give me a digital holler. Almost every past event referenced in Launch has been written out by me, or planned in such detail I could write it up quickly. I also have quite a bit of their future planned, including a sequel that is...likely never to see the light of day, but that's ok. All this stuff is out there, but I tend to only copy-edit things that have been requested. So, if you have a fancy, then go ahead and request.
> 
> As always, comments are my favorite things, but even just knowing that people have clicked through and read this behemoth makes me happier than I can say.
> 
> <3 you all,
> 
> Instigator

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Results May Vary](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3721102) by [treesofsilverleaves (Mixed_Up_Crazy)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mixed_Up_Crazy/pseuds/treesofsilverleaves)




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